The Courting of Corky Corcoran
by martykate
Summary: Corcoran has been a bachelor since his wife died, which suits him fine. Donovan has a beautiful headstrong educated daughter who has taken it into her head to become a doctor and move to Africa. Desperate to keep her by him Donovan turns to the only man he knows who could manage his willful Fiona. What happens next surprises both Corky and Fiona when attraction overcomes reluctance
1. Chapter 1

It had been a relatively quiet night in Five Points, Detective Kevin "Corky" Corcoran was debating as to whether he should go to Eva's place and enjoy a tumble with her, or if he'd finish his shift and go home to his dark, empty house. He'd just about decided on the whisky and Eva, when he caught the sound of light footsteps running away from him.

Instinct took over and he followed after the footsteps, his pace almost equal with them when they stopped. He stopped, listening and trying to decide where they'd come from, but there was no sign, no one at all save him. Maybe it had been his imagination, but the copper in him knew someone had followed him. Someone who walked on light cat feet and knew how to disappear into the night. He shook off the uneasiness he felt at the thought of someone tailing him so easily, and headed to the warmth and lights of Eva's.

As on so many nights before, he did not wake up in his own bed. He paid no attention to the girl next to him as he put on his clothes and headed down the stairs and out the door into Five Points. He saw no point in going home so he headed to the precinct house, empty stomach rumbling, and vowed he'd not leave his belly empty after a night of drinking. He held his liquor well, but there were times when his body craved food, and he found himself wishing he'd grabbed something, if only a little. When Ellen…

"Stop that," he told himself, "Don't even think of it." Ellen was gone, and trying to resurrect memories of a marriage turned empty of promise had in the end proved to be an exercise in futility and he did not like failure. He hadn't been able to save Ellen any more than he'd been able to save Annie. It was much better to immerse himself in whisky and Eva's house until the raw wound started to close, if it ever would.

The precinct house was dirty, smelly and ill lit, but even in the good days it had always felt more like home than the little house in Five Points. He poured a cup of the thick, bitter coffee and sat down with the mates who felt more like family. He paid scant attention to the morning meeting, wondering what had happened the night before. He wondered who his mysterious stalker was, and would have wondered why he was targeted, only he was always being targeted. There was always an enemy he had made who might have put a price on his head. The coppers in Five Points might be corrupt, but there were always enemies to be made by someone who merely sought to do his job.

(Vassar College, Poughkeepsie NY, founded 1861)

Like him. Maybe that was why he could not get the incident of the night before out of his mind. A mystery waiting to be solved, a phantom luring him, he itched for the chance to bring the unknown into the known. It was his nature to seek solutions to problems, unsolved problems were a thing he could not leave undone.

In the meantime, he had a job to do. He and his boys wandered Five Points, the rough neighborhood providing plenty of work to pass the time. It was a never ending variety that was a variation on the same thing. Murder, robbery, theft, assault—all simply a day's work. The work suited him, an outlet for his anger, and his personal mission to protect the citizens of Five Points. If a hero, he was a hero with flaws. He was not immune to graft and bribery, but it did not make him a bad cop. He'd worked hard to earn the respect he felt he had coming, but Detective Corcoran was as popular with the citizens of Five Points as he was with the whores at Eva's.

When his shift ended, he ate and stepped outside and looked up at a moon shining brightly in a blue velvet sky. Not usually prone to moon gazing, he found himself hypnotized by the light it reflected in the harbor. _Must be a spell I'm under, maybe it's a witch who's tormenting me. I'll get caught up in the spell and spend the rest of my life chasing this bogey who won't leave me alone._

He found his feet were taking him, wearily, to Eva's when he smelled a sweet Turkish tobacco that few of the citizens in his Sixth District could afford. Wondering if it was the mysterious stranger of the night before, he followed the smell until he found a cigarette with a match and a stub lying beside it. He knelt down and picked up the cigarette, lighting it with the match that his tormenter had so thoughtfully provided.

"And you left the one you put out so I couldn't follow the scent," he said out loud, "Very clever, as clever as you were thoughtful to leave one for me, complete with a match. Whoever you are, you're probably not poor, this tobacco is expensive. I bet you don't even live here. What are you doing here, and why are you following me?" He waited for a reply he knew would not come, hoping anyway that it might. Someone was deliberately teasing him, taunting him, and playing him for a fool. This he could not bear, and vowed he would keep looking for this mysterious stranger.

Eva's was a welcome refuge. He sat at the bar, watching and listening as he always did. Friends came up and bought him drinks. Men currying his favor offered to buy and he did not turn them down. He half listened to their requests, their problems, assured some that he'd look into it, ignoring the others.

He didn't know that his stalker would be here, but his detective instincts told him that if his movements wear familiar to the mysterious stranger, he would know that he always made his way to Eva's at night. He looked around, trying to see something, then heard a conversation being carried on in French.

There was a poker game at a table not far from the bar. A disagreement was going on, undoubtedly about someone cheating. He could not understand the words, but the argument was becoming heated, the participants dangerously close to coming to blows. Two of the participants were clearly French, the other was fluent, but spoke with an accent that revealed it was not his native tongue. A slender almost feminine looking hand held a cigarette and pointed it in the face of one of the suspected players. A woman's hand, Corcoran guessed, despite the fact that she was dressed in men's clothes, with a hat pulled low over her eyes. And she was tall, taller at least than one of the other players.

Suddenly she swept the money off the table and put it in her pocket. "Pig", she said in English. This did not sit well with the other players, and she began to argue, again, in French, until she began to run through the maze of tables and headed towards the door.

He was fast, but she was faster. Corcoran cursed as she broke through the door and ran down the street. For a block he pursued her, certain he could catch her, but she had turned into one of the many alleyways and he could not see her. He could search for her all night, with no results, and the thought of spending the night searching nooks and alleys did not appeal to him. He turned and made his way back to Eva's.

She had a drink waiting for him at the bar. She watched while he drank it, then refilled the glass. "You would not have caught her," she said.

"What? Was that really a women? Who is she, Eva? Where did she come from?" He held his glass up for another refill.

She playfully held the bottle back, then tipped the neck and poured whisky into his glass. "She started coming in here a few months ago. I thought she was a young man until I realized that she never went upstairs to visit any of my girls. I got a good look at her one day and realized she had smooth skin and no beard. Her neck and hands belonged to a woman, not a man, but I decided to leave her alone. She drinks a little and is popular with my customers, and plays excellent poker. She generally walks away from the table with her pockets full. If a professional gambler comes in, well, you could say she has to work for her money. The professionals are the only ones she loses to, and even then, she doesn't always lose. She tips well, she's polite, so I let her keep coming in here."

Eva scrutinized his face. "Why are you so concerned with her, Corky? She's just a girl who likes to drink and play cards. She's caused no harm, so why so interested?"

"Because I think she's been following me," half embarrassed to admit it, "And since I had no idea who she was, I didn't know if she was a threat or not."

Eva burst into laughter. "A teenage girl has been following you and you were afraid she might be a threat! Corky, from what I have seen of this girl, she wouldn't hurt a fly. And I don't think she's been following you. You've been working too hard. You need to come see me more often." She sat the bottle next to his glass and turned to talk to another customer.

He took Eva by the hand and dragged her upstairs. When he woke the next morning, he thought she might be right and decided to leave the scent of Turkish tobacco alone.

Brendan Donovan summoned him to his office the next day. Corcoran didn't know what the bandy legged ward boss wanted. It was not uncommon for Donovan to summon him, it was just strange that he had asked him to come alone.

General Donovan was sitting at his desk, smoking a cigar. "Ah, Corky, my boy, 'tis good to see ye." For all the years he'd spent in the United States, Donovan's brogue was thick as clotted cream. His yellow hair showed more grey these days, but Donovan had the air of a man who was satisfied with where he'd come from and where he'd arrived. His family now resided in a house on Twenty Third Street, and his daughter had just graduated from Vasser College in Poughkeepsie. His second wife had given him two sons and if Donovan was not happy with what he had, he was adept at concealing it.

He held a picture in his hands, handing it to Corcoran. "My Fiona, newly graduated. She's a beauty, isn't she, just like her mother was. Tall and graceful, smart as a whip, too. The first of my family to graduate from college. Had to talk me into it, she did, but she did me proud."

Corcoran examined the figure in photo. A girl stood, holding the back of a chair, looking almost defiantly into the camera. She was tall and graceful, as Donovan had said, and the face that stared out from the picture seemed full of character.

He remembered the twelve year old girl who had come with her father to the precinct. How she'd managed that, he didn't know, but Five Points didn't seem to phase her. She'd clung tightly to her father, but had looked about her, full of curiosity. Her eyes had met his for moment, and he almost melted at the sight of the blue green eyes staring into his. Waves of long brown hair had framed her face and he remembered thinking what a beauty she would be when she grew up. The promise was already there, it would take only a few years for it to bloom.

"I remember her," he said slowly, "You practically had to drag her away. She didn't seem intimidated by anything. It's almost a shame that she wasn't a son." He handed the picture back to Donovan.

"Aye, you're right, she should have been a boy. She's smarter than I'll ever be. All those fancy schools she begged to go to, and always at the head of her class. I was hoping she'd make a friend who would have a brother or two so she could make a good marriage, but she never had much use for girls. She gets along with her step mother, but that's it."

He sighed. "Corky I have a problem. She's taken it into her head that she wants to go to medical school and go to work in Africa or India. I'll no have my daughter running off to some godforsaken place. She'd waste another four years of her life trying to be a doctor and then discover there's no place for her. It's still a man's world, as much as she tries to fight it."

"Corky, I want to ask something of you I'd never think to ask. I want only the finest man I know to marry my little girl. Someone who's as headstrong and stubborn as she and who I know could make her happy. You're the best man I know, Corky, would you marry my girl?"

He almost fell out of his chair. "General I don't know what to say. I don't think I'm ready to marry, and I don't know Fiona, so how would I know if I wanted to marry her?"

The General looked at him shrewdly, "Corky, you're wanting a wife, though ye may not know it. Eva's a good woman but she's a whore all the same. Fiona is someone who will always surprise you. She's 20 years old now, and it's time she be married. I know my Fi well enough and the two of you would make a good match. Now you just think on it before you give me an answer. Come to Sunday dinner—the missus and I will return after mass is over. Fiona has lapsed and will probably be at home, so if you come early, you two can talk. Now don't you worry, I've said nothing to her, but she'll marry you if I say so. Now run along, I have work to do."

Corcoran put on his hat, "Yes sir," he said as he turned to leave the room, but Donovan interrupted him.

"Corky, that's an order now. We'll see you on Sunday." Corcoran sighed and left the General's office, feeling like a man newly condemned.

Sunday came and the condemned man shaved and put on his best jacket, shirt and trousers. He walked up to Donovan's new abode on Twenty Third Street and knocked on the door. He waited, looking around, wondering if he should leave now like an errant schoolboy, or stay and face the music.,

Alas, it was too late to run, but he was pleasantly surprised by who answered the door. A girl, no a young woman with the most magnificent blue green eyes he had ever seen was holding the door half open, as wary of him as he had been of her. She was tall, had a trim figure, and her round face was far more lovely than he could have imagined. Maybe Donovan had been handsome once, this creature who stood before him had her father's features stamped on her face, but her dark hair and tawny skin had not come from him.

"If you're done staring at me, Mr. Corcoran, you could come in." She held the door wider, and he entered and removed his hat. A butler appeared from nowhere and whisked them from his arms, disappearing down the hall. "Come," she said, and gestured to a small parlor not far from the entrance. He sat down on a small sofa, staring at her because he could not help it. He wondered what this young Juno thought of him. Surely she had boys courting her that were far more worthy.

"A drink?" she asked, but did not bother to wait for an answer, pouring two glasses with generous portions of whisky, then handing one to him as she sat down.

"Surely Miss Fiona, your father would not want…" he began but she cut him off.

"I'm half Irish, Mr. Corcoran, whisky is my heritage." She held up her glass, regarding him frankly.

"Half?" This was something he did not know.

"My mother was French. She died when I was ten years old. I get my dark hair and my coloring from her. She was sallow, just like me." She sat back reminiscing, "It was a love match—they adored each other. She defied her parents to marry him and never regretted it. He was devastated when she died and for a while I thought he'd never get over it. I don't know if he married my stepmother for love, or if he thought I needed a mum and he needed a wife. She's very nice and we get along just fine, but I don't think he loves her the way he loved Ma. I don't ask, so I don't know. We have a happy family, I guess that's all that counts."

She took a long, deep drink of her whisky, then stared at him, eyes over her glass. "Why are you here? He's never invited you before. He's up to something, I can always tell." She squinted her eyes at him, "What has he put you up to?"

Corcoran opened his mouth, not sure what would come out, but he was saved by the sound of Donovan and his wife in the little hallway. Donovan and his wife entered the drawing room, and Corcoran noticed that Fiona did not try to hide her glass.

"Ah, Corky, tis good to see you. I trust Fiona has been entertaining you?"

"Well enough, sir, well enough." Corcoran stood stiffly, reminding himself of standing in formation in his days in the army. He looked over at the vision in the grey silk dress whose eyes he could not look away from.

"Well, that's good enough," Donovan said contentedly, "Now let me have my whisky while the women set out our dinner. Fiona has been cooking all morning, she's scarcely left the cook a thing to do."

Fiona filled their glasses, casting him a cryptic look as she exited the room. "A man could get used to staring at those eyes," he thought to himself, "She's a stunner, no doubt about that."

"So, Corky, what do you think of me Fiona? A beauty that one is, and sometimes I can scarce believe she's mine. She's smarter than both of us, as I said before. You could do far worse than her—a man would be lucky to have her, even if it is me saying it."

"But why, sir? I thought she wanted to go to medical school. Five Points could use another doctor, Matthew Freeman is overwhelmed as it is."

"I don't want a daughter who's an educated freak," Donovan spat out the words, "She'd be wasting her life, trying to be a doctor. I want grandchildren, not a daughter who's in some god forsaken place like Africa or India. Your Ellen's been gone now for three years, it's time you married again. Fiona is 20, it's time she settled down and became a wife, and I think you are the only man I know who could handle her."

Dinner was an unpleasant affair. Corcoran was as pleasant as he knew how. Fiona held her head up, made polite and interesting conversation, often directed more at her father than at Corcoran. By the end of the meal, though, he knew his fate was sealed. It was something he could somehow not help. Every time those crystal blue eyes stared at him, he felt himself sinking below silent waters. If he'd never seen her, it would have been easy to refuse. Now that he had looked upon a young goddess, it appeared that mere mortals would no longer do. He wanted to have, no possess, the girl who could look at him so frankly with those eyes that were beginning to haunt him.

When he left, it was Fiona who saw him to the door. "I'm sorry," she said softly, "I'm sorry he's dragged you into this. Once he sets his mind on something, he has the determination of a bulldog." She curled her lips up into a smile, "If I were you, I'd run. You're a marked man now, Corcoran."

"Why don't you call me by my Christian name?"

"All right, Kevin it is. But it's a married Kevin you'll be if you can't think quickly on your feet." She closed the door behind him.

He should have gone to the station, but he wanted to shake off the memories of the afternoon. He went instead to Eva's, and began to down whiskies, trying to forget a girl he did not want to marry, but wanted very badly to have.

"What is wrong with you?" Eva asked, "You look like you're angry, but you won't talk to me, or take a girl upstairs, or even try to convince me to go to bed with you. If you're going to have a face like a thundercloud, I wish you'd either cheer up or leave, you're frightening the customers.

"Thanks, Eva," he muttered, and stomped out of the bar. So much for trustworthy friends.

He decided to take the long way home. He'd had just enough whisky to forget about his shadow and was almost half way home when he heard to tapping of light footsteps behind him. He melted into darkness of an alley and waited, hoping that this time she would show herself.

She did. Her eyes met his and she took off, running down the alleys, taking twist and turns that would make her vanish from his sight, but always reappearing. Running for her life like Daphne from Apollo, she ran with more speed than Corocoran thought possible.

He was starting to breath heavily, his heart pounded painfully in his chest. She was younger, more fleet of foot, he should give up this vain chase now and let her go, but something would not let him stop. Whoever she was, he had to catch her, even if it meant his death.

A scream split the dim light of the alleyway. He ran to where the sound came from and saw her, lying on the ground, her dark hair streaming out from under her hat casting a shadow around her. She struggled to get away, but was trapped by her hair and her ankle. Now he wondered why he had not recognized her before, for the eyes that stared at him, unafraid, were like aquamarine crystals, and he knew only one person who had eyes like that.

"I've twisted my damn ankle," she said, looking straight at him, "You got lucky copper."

"Fiona?" he asked, though somehow he knew he had known.

"I can't walk, Corky, you've got to help me." She was down but not defeated.

He knelt next to her on the cobblestones. "That depends," he said slowly.

"On what?"

"Will you marry me?"


	2. Chapter 2

"What?" she stared at him in sheer disbelief. "Why?"

"Is it so strange, Miss Fiona, that I would want to marry you?" He was torn between hurt and anger at her response, then decided she was right to question him. The fact of the matter was that he didn't really know, either, except that her beauty and her strange eyes seemed to draw him in.

"Oh, Kevin." Not "Corky" or "Corcoran", but "Kevin". "If you truly did want to marry me, do you know what you'd be marrying into? You marry me and you'd belong to Pa and Tammany for life. How many people does he own? Sullivan, for one. Maguire is his for life since he spared him from the gallows. That poor bastard is at Father's beck and call, his life is no longer his own. You're a copper, a good one, and you care about Five Points. Marry me and you'll be Father's lackey, you think you won't, but you will."

"I like to think I'm my own man," he said a little stiffly.

"You are your own man, but Pa could corrupt a saint, I've seen it. Why do you think I've gone to all these schools, why I wanted to go to medical school and go to work in Africa or India? I'm trying to escape Tammany and Pa. Do you know one of the reasons I spend so much time at the tables? I'm trying to acquire enough money to put myself through medical school. I have enough for a year and a half, but I need more. When I have enough, I'm going to leave and not come back till I'm a practicing doctor—if I do come back at all."

"What happened to becoming a missionary?"

"I had thought about that. There was someone I met while I was going to Vasser who had a brother who had served in a mission in India. That seemed the perfect escape, for a while. I've since thought better of it. I don't have the temperament for it."

She began to try to free her hair, but the long locks seemed to have wrapped themselves around her. He leant a hand, helping to lift her so she could pull them free.

"I'd like to cut this off," she muttered, "It does nothing but get in my way." She pulled off her tie and used it to tie her hair back.

"Don't do that." He hadn't meant to say it, it had just come out.

She smiled at him, laying a cool hand on his cheek. "Do you know that Pa talked to me before he approached you? I love my father but I know what kind of man he is. I also know the power Tammany has in our city. I don't want it to touch you. He wants you for something, but I don't know what. I've eavesdropped on a lot of conversations, I've heard a lot of things that I shouldn't, but I felt like I needed to know what he was up to. He's made it his business to know everything that goes on in this city. He has too much power and it frightens me."

"Then let me be your shield, Fiona, let me protect you from him. Marry me and you won't have to fight your battle alone. Let me take care of you."

"And who will take care of you?" There were tears her eyes that he wanted to wipe away, but held himself back.

"You will. We'll take care of each other. Say yes, Fiona, just say yes."

"Did you know that Tammany was named for a Lenape chief named Tamenand?" she said, "He was supposed to have made peace among the warring tribes."

"What are you talking about?"

"My mother was half Lenape. She told me about him. Maybe we can help make peace and end some of these gang wars. If we can do that, maybe we can help break the power of Tammany."

"Don't go thinking you can do that, you may get yourself killed. I'd rather see you make yourself a doctor than meddle in the affairs of the gangs of Five Points." Or Tammany, he thought.

"Kevin, do you really want to marry me? Wouldn't you rather marry someone who isn't going to be difficult? Someone who's more likely to go along than fight with you?"

He took a risk and drew her into his arms. "No, I want to marry a beautiful, difficult, mulish, half Irish girl and maybe help her become a doctor if that's what it takes to make her happy. Do you think you could be happy with a copper for a husband? It's not an easy life."

"I'm a copper's daughter, remember? That's how Pa started. I'm a Five Points girl, I know the life. All I'd want from you right now is a pump inside our house, and a sink. Ask Pa for my hand in marriage and I'll marry you. It's the path of least resistance for now. And I like you, Corky, I like who you are and what you are. Don't tell Pa what I told you. I'm afraid of Tammany—it's too powerful. I think with you I could feel safe. Yes, Corky, my answer is yes. But I'm warning you, no good may come of this, all I can say is be careful."

The next morning he sought out Donovan and gave him the news—as best he could. "Uh, sir," he stood nervously, holding his hat by the brim, "Fiona will marry me, er, I asked Fiona if she would marry me and she said 'yes'". The second sounded a little better, but just as awkward.

Donovan looked at him, considering. "So you asked Fiona to marry you and she consented? I must admit I did not expect you to find success so soon." He rummaged around in a desk drawer and withdrew a small box. "This was her mother's, we held onto it through thick and thin so that someday Fiona might have it. I believe this will mean a great deal to her."

Corcoran opened the box and saw a diamond solitaire set in a carved gold band. The diamond was not large, but caught sparks from the muted light in Donovan's office just the same. Beautiful, he thought, and something he could not ever have hoped to afford it.

"It's an heirloom," said Donovan, "It's very old. Me Catherine had it from her grandmother, even though her parents did not approve of our marriage. Madame Fontaine was very grand, but she told me she saw the potential in me, that I was destined for great things. The only promise we were made to keep is that no matter what happened, the ring must not be sold, but passed on to the eldest daughter. And so it comes to my Fiona. I am trusting you with my greatest treasure Corky."

He stood up, "And now I have things to do. I believe that Fiona is downtown talking to Matthew Freeman. I think that girl is going to try to be a doctor even though I don't approve. Well, she'll be your problem now, Corky. Oh, by the way, have you set a date?"

Corcoran had not been prepared for that, but he had a ready answer. "I'll let Fiona take care of that. It should be the bride's day. Whatever she wants will be fine with me."

"I see you're learning," Donovan laughed and waved him away.

The box felt awkward in his pocket. For some reason he did not understand himself, he thought it best if he gave Fiona the ring right away. What he should do was find O'Brien and Maguire and get to work, instead he decided to seek out Freeman and find his fiancée—the word sounded awkward, but when he thought of her, it seemed only right.

He found Fiona wearing an apron wrapped over a grey cotton dress. Matthew was stitching a wound and explaining to her how he was doing it and what type of stitches he used. Their two heads were together over the patient and he heard Fiona asking why cat gut and why not another type of thread that could be cut and removed when the stitches healed. Matthew had launched into an explanation when he looked up and saw Corcoran.

"Corky, what are you doing here at this hour?" The tall Negro doctor smiled, as if he had some inkling of exactly what Corcoran was doing there.

Fiona looked at him land smiled. "Good morning, Corcoran." Again the "Corcoran". "I've been coming here mornings since I returned to New York. I thought I would get a firsthand look at medicine being practiced, Five Points-style. Who knows? I may have to stitch you up some day."

"I need to talk to you—alone," he said meaningfully.

"All right," she shrugged her shoulders and removed her apron. "I'll be back another time, Matthew, thank you for letting me watch." She let Corcoran help with her cape, then turned and waved goodbye.

The weather was nice and sunny, people were out buying food in the still cool air, or just standing about enjoying the morning. He looked around, enjoying the rare peace, then reached into his pocket and drew out the box.

"This is for you," he said curtly and hated the way he said it, but she didn't seem to mind.

She opened the tiny box. "Grand mere's ring! Oh Corky, this is so precious, why did he give it to me? This is what I least expected."

"Well, he told me that it went to the oldest daughter, and since you're the oldest daughter and we are getting married, giving it to you must have seemed the right thing."

She slipped the ring onto her finger, being careful not to show it around, even though Corcoran could have stopped any trouble before it started.

"You really intend to marry me?"

"Yes, I asked you, didn't I? And I believe you said yes."

She smiled at him, "Yes, so you did, and I did as I recall."

"And you're wearing a diamond engagement ring now. I believe that seals the bargain." He took her left hand and kissed it on the ring. "I've decided that marrying you might be the very thing I was missing."

She kissed his cheek. "And I was going to offer to let you back out of it. Don't want you to be coerced into this. I can handle Father."

He released her hand. "I've got to be going, darlin'. And I don't intend to back out of anything. We're getting married just as soon as you set the date. If you think you're getting out of this you're sorely mistaken." He tipped his hat to her and took off down the sidewalk.

He was halfway down the sidewalk when he remembered something he wanted to tell her. He turned and saw no one. He intended to go back the way he came, to look for her, when he heard Maguire call "Corky" and ran to he and O'Brien were waiting for him.

"They've found two bodies in the river, both women. Captain says we've got to go check them out, now. Looks like they're floaters, they've been in the water for a while."

Damn, something was bothering him. He thought he should have been able to see Fiona, he'd not gone that far, but she was nowhere in sight. He wanted to go back and check on her, something didn't feel quite right, but he needed to get back to his work. He would check on her later, he decided, and not let himself over worry.

He realized that he'd fallen in love with her, so unexpectedly, and he suspected that she felt the same. The whole thing was crazy, but it just felt right. They had been thrown together in manner that lacked all logic, but sure enough, he thought, no he knew, that Fiona Donovan was the woman for him, and no other would do.


	3. Chapter 3

Coppers hated floaters and Corcoran was no exception. They came to the surface after weeks, or months in the water, and the sight of them was like out of the worst nightmare anyone could imagine. The skin was grey and mottled from decay, the body bloated, the features often distorted beyond recognition. Often they had been fed on by fish and crabs, leaving gaping holes in the flesh. And the stink, the stink was the worst of all.

The smell of decaying flesh was bad under any circumstances, and bodies were found in all states of decay, but there was something about the floaters that was worse. The longer the body had been in the water, the worse the smell. And these bodies were so decayed they were rotten.

The three detectives wrapped handkerchiefs around their faces, but that was still not keeping out the odor. Corocoran hated the fact that he was going to have to call Freeman in to see this, but he didn't trust Grimes, and for that matter, Grimes was no good. Matthew was better and smarter, and would jump to no easy conclusion as Grimes would just to get an unpleasant case out of the way. "Drowning," Grimes would say, and Kevin knew in his gut that these were no simple drownings. He needed Freeman's expertise and wisdom.

"Whaddya think, Corky?" Maguire asked, "Think these might be women?"

"Maybe". Corky, standing as close to the rotting bodies as he could bear, noticed that each had patches of hair left, long hair, one with jet black hair, one with long golden hair. Where breasts might have been there were two gaping holes in the carcasses—he could not bear to call them bodies. Neither body bore any trace of clothing, and what remained of human anatomy might be female. These God rotting corpses were telling him little. If he got Freeman to take the bodies, he'd have to round to all of the bawdy houses and see if any of their girls had disappeared and when. It would be hard to know, because the girls would come and go between houses, or even move to another state for reasons known only to them. This would not be easy.

"Get Freeman," he told O'Brien, "These bodies look like they'd fall apart if we tried to move them. See what he thinks. I want him to look at them before Grimes gets anywhere near them—if he will that is. We need to find out if these girls came from here or not. I don't know if they worked in a house or for a pimp or madam. I wish there something, anything on them to identify them. I don't know how long this is going to take, but Captain Sullivan is sure to not want to waste his time on a couple of whores, if that's what they are." O'Brien nodded and took off.

He should have asked him to inquire after Fiona, but that occurred to him too late. At least he was able to concentrate on his work. He was concerned, but he had to put that aside for now. She was a Five Points girl and a Copper's daughter, surely she could take care of herself.

Freeman, hurry, he thought as he waited for the sound of the clopping hooves of Freeman's wagon. He wouldn't be happy at the surprise Corcoran had waiting for him, but he wanted to see if Freeman could determine if the girls had been murdered before they went into the water. Grimes was more likely to just pronounce the deaths but drowning, but Corocoran had the feeling there more to it. He sighed, why did the police department only draw the most incompetent of doctors when they needed the best? With better help, more crimes could be solved and more criminals could be brought to justice. The Grimes' of this world pissed him off by their lackadaisical attitudes.

"_Where the hell was Freeman?"_ He wanted to get rid of these bodies. The stench, the grotesque sight of them draining fluids onto the dock, he was sick of looking at them. Just a verdict from Freeman and he could take them to Grimes and be done with them—he would take no small pleasure in handing over the reeking, stinking bodies to him. He looked down, reluctant to touch the mass of flesh in front of him, trying to see if anything showed a cause of death.

At last. The unmistakable rattle of wheels on cobblestones announced the arrival of Matthew Freeman. He stepped wearily down from his wagon, wishing again that Corcoran had someone else that he could call, knowing full well that there wasn't. His principles would not let him not do the right thing, and he knew the incompetence of the Six District's Dr. Grimes as well as Corcoran did.

Then the smell hit him. He stepped back in horror, He drew his handkerchief from his pocket and covered his mouth and nose before he even looked at the bodies lying in front of him.

"Well, Matthew, how long?" Corcoran looked up at him. Even though he was no doctor, he knew his guess of a month or more was probably accurate. He watched as Matthew took a probe and gently ran it under the chin of the remains of each girl. He hoped they didn't have to turn the bodies over and look there.

"A month or more, at least. I'm surprised you got the bodies up here in one piece. And from the looks of it, their throats were cut. There's a clean edged wound, or what remains of one, under their chins. I'd check to see if there was water in their lungs, but I bet there isn't enough to indicate a drowning. Let Grimes try and figure it out. I wouldn't touch those bodies unless someone paid me a lot of money, and even then I wouldn't want to do it. Good luck, Corky, you have a real mess on your hands. Those girls didn't drown, and I'll you that they worked the Red Light District. Check to see if any girls have gone missing in the past two months. Don't be surprised if at least one more body turns up. That's the way these things work."

"Oh Corky," Freeman paused before he got in the wagon.

Please, no, thought Corcoran, I don't want to talk about Fiona now.

"Are you and Fiona Donovan…"

"Yes," Corcoran interrupted him, "I don't want to talk about Fiona now."

"Hmmmm," Freeman smiled, and got into his wagon.

Damn! Corcoran muttered a series of obscenities under his breath. He turned his mind back to work. Matthew was probably right. At least one more body, as old or as older as these, would probably turn up. It was likely that the killer was no longer in Five Points, or if still there, was laying low. He had two young patrolmen move the bodies onto a sheet, then lift them into the back of the wagon that had been brought to the scene. He felt sorrier for the young coppers who would have to convey the bodies to Grimes, than he did for Grimes himself. Let the quack himself deal with the mess for a change.

The young patrolmen loaded the bodies onto the wagon to transport to Grimes. Corcoran had thought he was done with this when Maguire called out again to him, "Corky, they've found another!"

"Shit," he said, and went to where the new body had been hauled up onto the dock. The smell was bad, but one had obviously not been in the water as long as the others. He had to turn away, though—this corpse had long brown hair that would have been like Fiona's if the girl were alive. When he could bring himself to, he turned back to make a quick exam of the body. As with the others, the throat of the girl had been cut, only this time it was obvious because the body was not so decomposed. "Who the hell are you anyway that you keep on killing these girls?" He asked, but received no answer.

"I've got to get out of here," thought Fiona. "I don't know what they're going to do with me." "They" were two of the Plug Uglies and the one that had seemed in charge she was sure was from the Bowery Boys. What were members of two rival gangs doing together anyway? Why her, what did they want with her? Had they seen her with Corcoran? Did they know she was General Donovan's daughter? And where precisely was she?

"Never mind the questions, Fiona," she told herself, concentrate on getting out of here. She put her bound hands on the knife in her boot, taking comfort in the fact it was there. Her kidnappers had been both doltish and efficient, a strange combination. She had been walking away from Corky when someone had popped a flour bag over her head and had lifted her up and carried her to a house in a neighborhood she did not recognize. She'd offered only token resistance, hoping to determine how many there were, and she'd guessed, correctly, at three.

When they'd reached their destination, they had removed the sack from her head. Yes, three, she verified, but why were they so stupid? Removing the bag from her head? They hadn't asked her any questions, nothing about "are you Donovan's daughter", or "how do you Detective Corcoran?" It didn't make sense. Why just kidnap her? No one did that without a reason—and if they intended to kill her…? Maybe, maybe not, but she had to start thinking about getting out.

She looked down at her hands and smiled. They should have tied her hands behind her back, but she'd done a good imitation of a female being in pain when they'd attempted to pull her arms back. She had a shoulder image, she said, when they attempted to pull her arms back. It hurt so badly, could they just tie her hands in front? She'd looked at them sadly, widening her eyes so they could get the full effect. No screaming or hysterics, just playing to the part of a man who'd humor a pretty girl. They'd used a lot or rope to compensate, but they hadn't found the knife in her boot when they bound her ankles. Score one for the good guys, she thought.

"Now Fiona, get busy," she told herself. The sooner she got free the better. Not a good idea to wait because this opportunity might not come again. She pulled the knife from her boot and wedged it in the ropes that bound her ankles. She slowly sawed the blade against the ropes around her wrists until they loosened. She pulled her hands free and took the knife and cut the words that bound her ankles. Lastly, she undid the dirty handkerchief around her mouth.

The room where they had put her must have been a storage room. The house looked as if it had been vacant for a long time, which was not usual for Five Points. She'd seen no sign of squatters, which would have been normal in an area that did not have much to spare in living space. Maybe someone had lived here until recently, or maybe someone used it when they needed it. Either way, she wished she knew what neighborhood she was in. She was sure it would probably be as run down as the house she was trapped in.

She heard a door open and close. Two male voices were arguing with each other, about what she couldn't tell. Don't leave this room, Fiona, she told herself, there's a good chance that someone's going to check on you, or offer you food, or something. You were smart in not making a fuss, you've not proven what they expected you to be. Be patient, someone is going to come to you, and you've got to be ready when he does.

"Ready for what?" asked a voice in her head, and she knew the grim reality it spoke of. She was going to have to take a life, maybe two, or she wouldn't be able to make her escape. Never, in all time that she'd spent at the tables, carrying her knife and her derringer, had she even contemplated the possibility of using them.

Now, she had no choice. It would do her no good to be passive and wait to be rescued. She didn't care if she got lost finding her way home, she'd get there eventually. She was going to steal the gun of the first bastard that she killed and use it on the second—and keep whichever gun had more bullets in it. Then she planned on running like hell.

She sat and waited, sitting behind the door so she had the element of surprise in her favor when he opened it. She didn't care which one it was, they were both going to die. All she had to do now is be patient and hope that the door opened before the third bastard returned.

She breathed slowly and quietly, praying for the door to open. Though they didn't expect her to speak, she heard one of them say, "Hey, are ye all right in there?" Come on, she thought grimly.

When he opened the door, a knife slit his jugular. He put up his hands in a futile gesture to try to stop the bleeding, and she pulled out his gun and hit him on the temples. His partner came to see what was going on, and she plugged him in the center of his forehead. "Move your arse, Fiona," she commanded herself, and she shot out the door, not bothering to choose a direction, just running blind like a bat out of hell.

Corcoran was sitting at his desk, doing what he hated the most—paperwork. Grimes had provided a decision regarding the cause of death of the three pathetic corpses of the women that had been pulled from the river this morning. If he tried to call it drowning, Corcoran was going to point out that the throat of the third clearly had been cut, so was it not likely that the same two might have met the same fate?

"Fuck you Grimes," he growled, and was surprised to hear a voice answer.

"I understand perfectly how you feel. Myself, I think the man is a perfect idiot." Brendan Donovan stood before him, but he was looking serious, even worried, and Corcoran guessed it had nothing to do with work.

"Have you heard from Fiona?" Donovan asked him, "We last spoke to her this morning, but it's getting late and neither me nor her mother have heard from her. It's not like her to do this, she never gives me cause to worry. It's not like it was in the old days when no one cared who I was. I may sound like a worried father, Corky, but I'm afraid something has happened. Find me girl, will you? I'd never forgive myself if something happened to her."

Corcoran put on his hat and coat. "Nor would I, sir. The last time I saw her was this morning when she was leaving Matthew's. I'll find her, sir, I'll take O'Brien and Maguire with me. We'll find her."

"That's what I wanted to hear," said Donovan, and he turned and left the room.

Corcoran set out at a run, pausing only to grab his mates. He'd use every contact he had, threatening them if he had to, and God help the man who'd grabbed Fiona.


	4. Chapter 4

Fiona was grateful she had not worn a corset that day. She was also grateful for her sensible shoes. Since she had started running she had not dared to stop. Unfortunately, the odds were that she would run into the third of her captors, Five Points was both smaller and larger than it seemed. She had no more knowledge of where he'd gone than he had of the fact that she'd killed the two others and took flight.

Her side hurt, hurt as if someone had jabbed a knife into her. She had to rest, she couldn't keep going the way she was. She'd duck into the first alley she came across, she had to. It was getting too painful to breathe now. She couldn't afford to collapse. She'd rest, for just a minute, just long enough for the pain to ease a little. And she had to figure out where she was.

She took a deep breath and pushed herself harder than she'd imagined she could. And by some stroke of luck, up ahead, were two tenements with a narrow space between. She looked down at her hand and realized she still held the gun. Funny, she'd forgotten about that. Hopefully there was no one in the alley, because while she could conceal her boot knife, there was no way to conceal the pistol she held in her shaking hand. "Mary, Mother of God," she prayed, "I know we're not on the best of terms, but could you help me out right now? Let me find a hiding place for a moment, please?" Or, better still, let Kevin find me while I'm still alive.

She ducked into the alley as quickly as she had in the days when she had been tormenting Kevin. A prostitute and her john were there and fled at the sight of the gun in her hand. Just as well, she thought, I need this place worse than they do.

There was no place to sit, no place to sink down on her haunches to give her aching legs a rest. The familiar smell of urine, feces, and garbage permeated the alley, but it was a welcome refuge none the less. She retreated deeper into the alleyway so that she could keep a watch at either end. And when she decided to resume her flight, she would now have a choice.

Seeing the whore and her john was a good omen, she decided. She must be closer to downtown than she thought. Eva's might be close, or even the Precinct House. Hell, she'd settle for going to the Tombs right now, they'd keep an eye on her until her father or Kevin could be found.

She wanted Kevin now, in a way she had not managed possible before. There was something about him that made her feel, well, safe. She might be Daddy's little girl, but with Kevin she felt protected and cherished in a way that was unfamiliar. She had put so much energy into going to school had left little time for anything else. There had been light flirtations at school functions and parties, but her mind had been fixed on her goal. Now there was someone who was showing her that there was more than that to life, and for the first time she had been willing to let go.

The stabbing in her side had subsided a little. It was still painful to breathe but she had to start running again. She looked up and down the alley, debating. She decided to exit the other end of the alley when she saw her former captor standing there. Did he see her? She didn't know, but all that was left to her was to turn and began to run again.

It was harder this time. Her rest had helped, but she felt the strain of having run so far and so fast. To make it worse, she could hear the sounds of his footsteps running after her. She forced herself to breathe deeply, and find some place within herself where she could find the strength to keep running—and stay on her feet.

By some miracle she began to recognize where she was. If she had gone down the other end of the alley she would have found herself heading towards the other end of Five Points. There were bawdy houses she used to pass by where the girls would stand in the windows and blow kisses, seeing the illusion of a handsome young man. There were the gambling parlors on the fringes of the Red Light district that she would frequent when she'd won too much at Eva's and had been accused of cheating. And somewhere not too far away, but farther than she wished, was the precinct house of the Sixth District.

A pretty dark haired woman was walking down the street, unaware that she was on a collision course with someone who was running for their very life. Fiona reached out and grabbed her by the waist, tossing her aside. "I did that for your own good," she muttered to herself, "but I'll have to apologize when I see you." She glanced back and saw that her pursuer was still determined, and wondered if she could get into a bawdy house or gambling parlor quickly enough to lose him. If he followed her in, she could still find herself on the wrong end of a bullet, and no time to fire the gun she held so desperately. No, best to keep running, even if she ran herself to death.

Corcoran felt himself at a loss, something he did not like. He did not know where to begin to look for her. He could start where Matthew lived, but with so many houses and tenements crowded together in Five Points, he could lose valuable time trying to find her. And he had to find her. What he needed was a lucky break—how many crimes were solved just that way? It didn't matter how much skill or experience you had, if you didn't have the luck, your case could go unsolved forever.

He, Francis, and Andrew decided to head up the street towards Matthew's-that was where Corcoran had seen her last. From there they would have to place their faith in the myth of "the luck of the Irish". Someone must have snatched her not far from Matthew's, but far enough away for him to have not to have seen her. It was strange, he mused, how quickly someone could disappear. One minute they were there, the next they were gone.

"You've got to go downtown, Kevin, now!"

"Huh?" He believed in solid material things, but just now he had hear her voice. He stopped, and the others looked at him.

"She's downtown somewhere. We've got to go downtown." He turned around and headed back in the direction they had come.

"Corky," said Andrew, you told us you last saw her at Matthews, why are we headed back downtown?"

"She told me. I heard her voice just now. I swear I heard her voice speaking in my head. Jesus, I must be mad, but she was telling me plain as day to look for her downtown." He took off and began to run.

Maguire and O'Brien looked at each other. This was not the Kevin they knew. Corcoran did not hear voices, or if he did, he would not go chasing after them. O'Brien was skeptical, but Maguire believed in the old ways and superstitions. He was willing to believe that if Corky said he had heard Fiona's voice, that was what happened. He turned around and began to follow Kevin. O'Brien gave up and joined the chase.

"Oh Corky," Fiona thought, "Find me, please find me. If you don't I'm going to have to trust on my luck and hope I have the chance to shoot this bastard. I can't run anymore, and I don't know if he'll get me before I get him."

She ducked into yet another alleyway and cocked the pistol. Her best chance was to try to shoot him as he ran by—if he didn't see her first that is. Suddenly she saw a man dressed in rags, smelling as if he had never had a bath in his life, holding a shiny knife. She ran from the alley, holding the pistol close to her to keep it from firing. Bad luck to worse, this is what that was. Bad luck to worse.

Finally her legs buckled and gave out underneath her. "Please God," she prayed and held her pistol at the ready.

By some chance, or by the grace of God, or the old gods as Fiona claimed to believe in, the three men saw a woman running at breakneck speed down the street, a man in hot pursuit.

"Fiona!" said Corky, and took off after him, his mates following at his heels.

"We've got to catch her, Corky," said Maguire, not knowing whether he heard him or not. He had heard stories from Corcoran about how Fiona had easily outrun him, and knew he was a skeptic no longer. If this girl could keep running like she was, maybe she could save herself, if they could catch the blackguard running after her, That girl had guts, there was no doubting it, but a girl who could run like that would be hard as hell to catch.

"Liam Galway, it's Liam Galway of the Bowery Boys." Andrew was breathing hard as they ran. "I wonder what he's doing here, this ain't Bowery Boy turf. C'mon Francis, if Corky can't catch him, we have to!"

But Corcoran had found something inside him, something that seemed to give wings to his feet. "Liam, Liam Galway!" he shouted, hoping he could get him to stop, or at the very least pause. All he got, however, was a brief turn of his head, not losing a beat as he ran, determined to catch the woman running from him.

Corcoran watched in horror as he saw Fiona stumble and fall. He saw the pistol in her hand, but Galway had stopped, pausing just a moment to gloat. Corcoran took the opportunity to fire a bullet into his head.

Fiona heard a gun go off, a gun she recognized, that he had let her fire before when he did not believe that she could shoot. She looked around and saw the body of the Bowery Boy lying on the ground. Suddenly everything went black as shock and exhaustion overtook her.

Corcoran ran to her as she lay sprawled on the cobblestones, and picked her up, holding her close. He started slapping her cheeks to bring her around, then breathed a sigh of relief when she opened her eyes. He could see the tears on her face, and he kissed her wet cheeks, the top of her head, and then her mouth. "Shh, Shh, Fiona, don't cry. It's all over now, that's my brave girl, don't cry, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. Don't cry, sweet girl, don't cry."

He held her while her shoulders shook, holding him tightly as if afraid that the nightmare wasn't over. Finally her sobbing subsided and she rested in his arms, afraid to let him go.

At last she pulled away from him. "Kevin, I killed two men. I killed them. I took their lives, it's my fault that they're dead. How can I live with myself?"

He'd been afraid of this, but had known it was coming and what he needed to say. "Fiona, I know what you're feeling. I've been to war and though it's a soldier's job to kill, I felt the way you're feeling now the first time I killed someone. Believe me, I understand."

"But this is different, darlin'. These men were going to kill you. Sure, they might have collected ransom from your father, but they couldn't take a chance on your recognizing them, they were going to kill you. And I would rather have you alive than them."

"You're the bravest girl that I know. You took action, most women I know and some men could not have done that. You had your knife and you weren't afraid to use it. That takes a lot of courage. You knew better than to wait for someone to rescue you, no one would probably have found you in time. You killed two very evil men, and I killed the third one. I don't know what the Plug Uglies and a Bowery Boy were doing working together, but they were up to no good whatever it was."

"You did exactly what you needed to do. You are the bravest girl that I know. I couldn't be more proud of you, Fiona. It's going to take some time, but one day this won't hurt anymore. If nothing else, this teaches you the value of a human life. Those plug uglies don't, they were going to kill you without giving it a second thought. But you fooled them, you killed them first."

"But now I'm a killer, no better than they were."

"No, Fiona," he shook her shoulders, "Listen to me. You were being held against your will. They snatched you off the street. These are men who could have been using you to get to me, or to you father. You knew you had to escape, you and weren't afraid to do what you had to do. Self-defense is never murder, never. This isn't what I wanted for you, but I'm glad to have you alive. See that man lying there? He had a gun, he was going to kill you. Do you think I have regrets about shooting him? The only regret I have is that I don't know what he wanted, but that's all."

She rested her head on his shoulder. "I don't want to go home right now, Kevin, I'm so tired, but I can't face Ma and Pa just now. Take me with you and deal with your paperwork tomorrow. I need to be with you right now."

He scooped her up like she was a child and carried her to the waiting police wagon. "Take us home, Maguire, I want to keep an eye on her."

"Aye, Corky, she's no looking too good. She needs a stiff drink and a good night's rest with her man. Tomorrow morning she'll be better." He slapped the reins of the horse and took him at a faster trot than he should have, eager to get Fiona and Corcoran home. Let the lovers have a night to themselves, he figured. They were as good as married as far as he was concerned and tonight they needed to be with each other. Tomorrow would take care of itself.


	5. Corcoran's Women Part One

Kentigema McGrath received the surprise of her life when someone, running as if for their life, reached out an arm, grabbing her by the waist and throwing her into a doorway. She barely had the time to get to her feet when another figure ran past her, clearly after whomever had accosted her.

She was so badly shaken that she forgot her shopping and went home and poured herself a stiff drink, ignoring the fact that she had promised Kevin that she would think about giving it up. She had had the scare of her life, and Kevin had been conspicuously absent from her bed for almost a month now. No word had she received, nor had she heard even the vaguest of rumors of where her lover might be.

The next morning she was still shaken. As strange as events in Five Points could be, to be physically tossed aside like a sack of potatoes was disconcerting. There was nothing she could do but go to the police station and file a complaint, that would at least make her feel better, and maybe she could even see her errant lover and demand to know where he'd been.

She dressed carefully in her best everyday dress. She brushed her black hair until it was shining, then put on her bonnet. She looked at herself in the little mirror and decided she was presentable, more than presentable. She knew she was beautiful, but she did not let it affect her. Looks after all were only skin deep, and though she had reached the age where the first bloom of youth had faded, she had not lost her pleasing countenance.

She went directly to the Sixth District station house and to the desk. Detective Maguire was sitting and looking bored, his expression changed, however when he saw her.

"I'd like to speak with Detective Corcoran, please," she said primly, "I'd like to file a complaint about an incident that happened yesterday." She looked about, but could not see him.

"Detective Corcoran is not available at the moment. I'm Detective Maguire, may I be of help to you, missus?" he inquired politely, insinuating exactly how'd he like to help her if she would give him the chance.

She was disappointed to hear Maguire's reply, but she paid no attention to the black haired detective, for at that moment, Corcoran entered the precinct house with a tall, handsome girl on his arm.

"Corky!" Maguire called out "You're back. Donovan has been looking for you. I told him Fiona was with you, and he was none too pleased, but glad to hear she was safe. We're to take her to him, then go ask Grimes about the bodies and see if we can find out anything."e He He looked at Fiona, and put a hand on her shoulder. "You all right girl?" he asked.

"Yes, for now. Once Pa hears what happened, there'll be holy hell to pay. And I can't say I'll be sorry to hear it. Corky," Kentigema gasped as she saw the girl clasp Corcoran's arm tightly to her, "Come see me tonight if you can. I'm telling Pa we'll be married in two weeks. I'll need your support when he finds out I want a private wedding and he can't invite all of Tammany." She put her left hand on his cheek and Kentigema saw the diamond sparkling. How in the world could Kevin have afforded such a ring?

Fiona suddenly turned and noticed her for the first time. "You!" she said, looking at her with the most beautiful eyes Kentigema had ever seen. "I knocked you off the sidewalk yesterday. I'm so sorry. I wanted to apologize if I ever saw you again. I didn't want to hurt you, but the man chasing me was going to knock you over, and maybe hurt you, if I didn't get you out of the way. I'm so sorry, I truly am." And the expression on her face seemed sincere.

Kevin was slightly embarrassed, but he kept his poise. "Fiona, this is Kentigema McGrath, Kentigema, Fiona Donovan, my fiancée." The girl held out her hand and Kentigema took it, lest she seem ungracious.

"Fiona Donovan, is it? Are you the daughter of General Donovan?"

"Yes, I am. I've been away at school for several years now, and have only spent brief times at home. I'm done with school for now. Corky and I will be marrying soon, and I'll be setting up housekeeping in his house in Five Points. I may go back to school, I don't know, that will depend on a lot of things."

"Well, let me congratulate you. Marriage is a great adventure for a young girl to embark upon. It will have its ups and downs, but I'm sure Corky will work hard to make you happy." There, Detective Looker, take that, she thought spitefully. She did not know if she had hoped that Kevin would marry her, but to see him here with this young beauty stung. Now she knew where he'd been. He was a man of strong urges, and she wondered who had been filling them. She knew nothing about this girl, but guessed she had yet to take care of them.

Corcoran handed Fiona off to a young patrolman, instructing him to take her to Donovan. He took her face in his big hands and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Kentigema noticed that the girl was only a few inches shorter than him, and they seemed well suited to each other, a handsome couple, she thought resentfully.

He watched her until she left, then took Kentigema by the arm and marched her outside. "Now I don't know what you're thinking, but you leave Fiona alone. She's a sweet girl who's willing to think the best of most people and I don't want you to make her unhappy. She doesn't need to know what went on between us. She's been through a bad ordeal and I want things to be as peaceful for her as I can make them. Understand?"

"You might have told me you'd found someone, instead of just abandoning me for this chit of a girl." She jerked her arm away from him. "A month and I've heard nothing from you since you last left my bed. And Fiona Donovan of all people! Tell me, are you marrying her for her money, or are you looking for connections to Tammany, or better still a move to uptown?"

"I should slap you for that, but I won't. I fell for a sweet, unspoiled girl. She's beautiful, she's smart, she's educated, and she's the daughter of a copper and knows the ways of Five Points. I fell in love with her the minute I laid eyes on her. Leave it be, Kentigema. I'm marrying her for her, not for Donovan, not for Tammany. And if you're hurt, I'm sorry, but in two weeks I going to marry Fiona Donovan." He turned and walked away.

She watched him, tears welling in her eyes, and was going to go after him, but felt a hand grasp her shoulder. She turned around to see the dark face of Detective Maguire.

"You leave it alone, missus, there's a good lass. Kevin's in love with his Fiona, and there's no one could come between them. If he's done you wrong, and I'm sure he may have, he didn't mean nothin' by it. The women have always liked Kevin, and he likes them. Meeting Fiona, now, has changed all that. She's a girl who will always be a match for him. You're a fine looking lady, but you'd never be able to hold him. This is who he was meant for. Good day to you now."

Corcoran could not get away from Kentigema McGrath quickly enough. It was nothing personal, but she had read more into what had passed between them than what had been there. If he had hurt her, he was sorry, but he was moving on with his life, and had no room now for her. He looked after Fiona longingly, wishing he could take her back to his bed. Donovan was sure to guess what had happened the night before, but the marriage contract was all but signed. Fiona could handle Donovan, of that he was sure. What he was coming to realize was that Fiona was no sweet and tractable girl as Ellen had been. She had a mind of her own and Corcoran realized that he was likely the one who was going to be handled, which, if he thought about it, was not so bad.

O'Brien joined him and Maguire and they went to Grimes to see what he had made of the bodies. What they found was what Corcoran had half expected: the bodies had been buried because of the stench and Grimes had told them flatly that the girls had been drowning victims, no more. He had ordered the bodies buried, since he had nowhere to store them and they were badly decomposed.

The three detectives had not been pleased, but for once Grimes had done the only thing he could have. Corcoran was sure they were not victims of simple drowning, There was nothing to do, said Corcoran, but to talk to as many of the girls, madams, and pimps who plied their trade in Five Points as they could. Talking to all of them would not be possible, but gossip flowed like a river in Five Points, and it was possible that someone might have heard something about someone who worked in a little known house or who walked the street. He would start at Eva's and the other two could start making their way through the Red Light District.

Maguire and O'Brien looked at each other as they watched Corcoran head to Eva's Paradise. It was as good as any place to start, but he was going to owe Eva an explanation and lots of favors if he wanted to stay in her good graces. It would be no easy task to tell his long- time lover that he was marrying the daughter of General Donovan.

Corcoran hoped that Eva had spent the night alone. It hadn't been so terribly long ago that it would have been possible to find him in her bed, but all that was in the past. It was going to be awkward to tell her that he was marrying the daughter of her sometime patron and lover, Donovan, even more so to admit that he had fallen for the girl who had tormented him and led him on a merry chase through the streets of Five Points. That, to Eva, would probably prove amusing.

It was early in the day but a few of Eva's employees were downstairs as Kevin made his way up the staircase to Eva's room. Fortunately, this morning she was alone and muttered, "What the hell?" when Kevin pulled the curtains open to waken her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she lit up a cigarette. "Couldn't this have waited?"

"I needed to talk to you while there were no distractions," Corcoran sat on the corner of her bed, half tempted to reach for her as he might in the old days. "I'm trying to find out if any girls have gone missing from your place, or if you've heard of any girls that have gone missing. I think we might have someone out there who is murdering the girls working the District. He cuts their throats, then tosses them in the river. He must be weighting them down because it's a while before they come up. And by the time they do, they're not recognizable—they barely look human."

Eva looked up at him, trying to smooth her hair out with her fingers. "Whores aren't exactly the easiest girls to keep track of, you should know that. Even if they owe money to the house, they might take off, trying to make better money. I think I would know if any of my girls went missing, so would anyone who runs a house. I can account for all of my girls, you should check the other establishments. I think it's more likely that if you're finding girls floating in the river they probably would have been walking the street, in which case a john or their pimp could have killed them. I think you have your work cut out for you."

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you, that helps, not that it's going to be easy, but it makes sense." He paused for a moment, "Eva, wouldn't a pimp be less likely to murder one of his girls? I mean, that's a source of income for him. Wouldn't it be more likely that a john is murdering prostitutes, especially since he's cutting their throats? Wouldn't a pimp be more likely to beat them to death?"

"You're getting too good at this, Corky. Yes, a pimp would most likely beat his girl to death. How many bodies have you found?"

"So far, three. We're watching the river and have a boat out there to see if any more pop up. I hope there aren't any more. If there are, that means that someone out there is killing prostitutes and is developing an appetite for it. If that's the case, eventually even the girls in places like yours won't be safe, he'll kill wherever takes his fancy." He patted her on the leg, "I've got to get going, go back to sleep, it's still early."

"Corky," she said as he turned to go, "When were you going to tell me about Fiona?"

"What?" He looked at her, dismayed, "How did you know about that?"

"No secrets in Five Points," she shook her head, "Actually, I heard it from Donovan. I don't know if he wanted to put me in place or what. I just want to be sure that you earn the right to marry that girl. She's the kind of girl that's easy to like, and I'm fond of her. You treat her the way she deserves to be treated. You made mistakes with your wife, or maybe you married the wrong woman. I think Fiona will be more understanding, more patient with you. You treat her right, I think you'll be happier than you deserve to be."

Corcoran kissed her on the cheek. "Point taken, Eva. I think I learned from my mistakes in my last marriage. And Fiona is a much tougher girl than Ellen was. You don't need to tell me how lucky I am because I know it." He let himself out the door.

He joined O'Brien and Maguire in the search of the rest of the establishments in Five Points. There was nothing, nothing helpful that they learned. As Eva had predicted, most of the houses were aware of their girls, and no one was missing, that they knew of. In one way, this was good, no girls were being murdered in establishments like Eva's. The killer was still working the streets, which would make it more difficult. Some of the pimps and the whores who worked the streets might cooperate, but hunting them down by day would prove difficult. The really desperate ones who slept in alleys and the like by day and roamed the streets by night could be easier to find. The others seemed to melt into the hidden ways of Five Points.

A young patrolman came running up to Corcoran. "Sir, sir," he panted, badly out of breath, "They've just pulled two more out of the river—and these don't seem to have spent as much time in the water."

Corcoran, Maguire, and O'Brien turned and ran to the docks.


	6. Chapter 6

The girls had been laid on the dock, thoughtfully covered with a blanket by a well meaning patrolmen. Corcoran looked down at them, their skin was bleached white from the water and their pupils had lost all color and were now glazed white. They were simultaneously pitiful and grotesque.

He hated to uncover them. They had not a stitch of clothing, and no jewelry or any of the things a girl might have. No clothes, no shoes, nothing to identify them. Without a name there was no place to start.

"Flynn," he said to a young patrolman standing guard over the bodies, "Run down to the precinct and see if you can find a sketch artist, and bring him back here. We can try getting sketches of these girls and pass them around to see if anyone has seen them before, or better still, knows their names." Well, I've had at least one good idea, he told himself, I can have pictures taken of them in the morgue, too.

He knelt down next to the bodies, and reluctantly pulled the blanket off. He searched under their chins and found tell-tale slit that let him know their throats had been cut. "You've been busy," he spoke to the invisible perp, "These are the fourth and fifth bodies that have turned up." He looked at the ankles and noticed the marks from the ropes that had been wrapped around their ankles and no doubt attached to a weight. "It must have slipped, or you didn't tie it very well. You know what you're doing, I'll grant you that. You couldn't help the fact they lost their weights this time. That could work in my favor, unless you decide on a different way of disposing of them."

Flynn had arrived with the sketch artist. "Draw them like they were alive," Corcoran instructed them, "Leave the hair loose, but make the faces look normal. I want to see what these girls looked like alive. Write a short description at the bottom of the page, I'm going to make flyers and spread them around the neighborhood. Maybe the pictures will be sufficient for someone to identify them. Someone must have known them, I hope."

He stood up, taking one last reluctant look at the bodies. For a moment he saw Fiona lying there, but shook the illusion off. Ever since she had been kidnapped he could not stop worrying that something would happen to her. The horror of almost losing her haunted him. The sooner they were wed and she was in his house where he could watch over her the better. He'd marry her tomorrow if she'd agree, but he knew there was little chance of that.

"Any luck at Eva's, Corky?" Maguire's thick brogue broke his reverie.

"No, not really. No advice that I didn't already know. I'm just wondering how you find people who have no name, no past, when no one will tell you anything if they know you're a copper. I think he's picking up these girls on the street, for now. We've got to talk to the girls and their pimps and find out if they've been threatened by any of their johns. We need to find out if they know of any girls who have disappeared. I think we'll have better luck with the girls than with their pimps. We have nothing to go on so we've got to start somewhere."

"Corky, I'm needing some food," O'Brien was always thinking of his stomach. "Why don't we go to Eva's and get something to eat, then we can start trying to find any girls who're out right now. I bet we're going to be spending some late nights looking for our boy."

"Why don't you and Maguire do that, Andrew. I'll meet you there in a couple of hours. Check on the gossip, see if any of the girls have heard anything, but try not to alarm anyone. I've got something I want to check on." He turned and walked away, hoping there was someone he could beg a ride from.

Maguire and O'Brien looked at each other, knowing full well where he was headed. They shrugged and headed over to Eva's for a whisky and a bite.

Corcoran remembered the first time he had knocked on Donovan's door. A girl had answered who had been as nervous of him as he of her. Now he stood in the foyer, waiting for Mrs. Donovan, when Fiona came sauntered down the stairs, dressed only in her nightgown and a cashmere wrap, looking deliciously rumpled. She smiled when she saw him, but at the same moment Mrs. Donovan made her appearance—and shrieked.

"Fiona, you're not decent, child. Do go back upstairs and get dressed, Mr. Corcoran can wait for you in the small parlor." Mrs. Donovan looked truly alarmed that he was seeing his fiancée in a state of undress.

"Oh Mama," she kissed her on the cheek, "Corky and I are getting married after all. I'm going to go back to bed and I don't want to get dressed and then undressed again." Mrs. Donovan looked as though she would faint at the thought of Fiona displaying such indecency. "Please ask cook to bring lunch for Corky, and a pot of coffee—and tea for me. Please?"

When Fiona wanted to on the charm she was irresistible, Corcoran thought. Mrs. Donovan was giving directions to a parlor maid and asking what he would prefer for lunch. Telling them, "I'll be right outside dears" and as she bustled off he almost felt sorry for her. He was sure that someone would be listening at the parlor doors, so he and Fiona were not to be given the chance of committing any impropriety.

"So Corky," Fiona sat down and motioned him to the small sofa. "What brings you here?"

"I need an excuse to see my fiancée?" He smiled, but she wasn't buying it.

"No, but I think something's going on. You seem more nervous, you didn't try to charm my stepmother, and you haven't kissed me."

"Well then, come over here and we'll remedy that." He held out his arm and she came over to him. They kissed, and he felt her relax in his arms, but he was wanting more.

"So, you're not going to tell me about this case you're having trouble with. Am I going to have to tell you?" She surprised him with this, she raised her eyebrows, inviting him to continue.

"How the hell did you know about that, girl?" She had caught him off guard, he would prefer to keep that part of his life separate from her.

"I'm a copper's daughter, you keep forgetting. I heard talk in the station, especially from those two young patrolmen who had to haul the bodies to Grimes. I thought you'd been a detective long enough to know that there's no secrets in the precinct house. I thought you'd want to tell to me about it. Besides, your face is telling me everything. I don't think you should ever try to lie to me, I'd see right through you." She looked at him, saying, "You know, I'm very smart. Pa used to talk about cases—selectively—but he taught me a lot about police work, how frustrating it can be at times."

"There's things you don't need to know…" he began, but she cut him off.

"No, I've known about those things all my life. You need to realize that by you can help yourself by talking to me." She would have gone on, but his lunch arrived and she dismissed the maid and served it to him herself.

"I guess you don't realize that for many great men, their most valuable asset was their wives. You may be old fashioned, Corky, but I'm not, and I think you know it. I'm going to have to wait for you to come around—I really didn't expect that. So now, eat your lunch and then go so I can get dressed and go see Robert and Elizabeth, and remind them they agreed to witness our marriage license tomorrow. And don't forget to meet me here at 10 a.m. so we can all go down to City Hall and get this done. You've only two more weeks of being a free man, Corcoran."

"You're handling me," he told her and she smiled. "You are something else, Fiona Mary Donovan. You remind me of Eva, in a way. You haven't won this round, but I'll wager the match isn't over. I'll finish my lunch and get going, then I'll see you tomorrow. By the way," he added, "You look very fetching in your nightgown, but I prefer you out of it."

She stood up. "You can finish your lunch alone. Just leave the tray, Maggie will take care of it. And ten o'clock tomorrow, here, don't forget." She left the room, not giving him one last kiss. He burst out laughing, then went back and finished his lunch.

"He's driving me crazy, he won't listen to reason. And worst of all, he won't listen to me, even when I'm making sense. I'm the daughter of a copper, I'm educated, I'm intelligent. Why why why isn't he willing to admit that maybe I can help him? Men drive me crazy, sorry Robert,

Robert Morehouse was enjoying the sight of Fiona Donovan pacing up and down the drawing room. Corky was going to have his hands full with this one, he hoped his friend was up to the challenge. He refilled Fiona's glass, looking at Elizabeth and wondering what she was thinking. He knew Corky had been a brief moment in her life, but he didn't know how deep the memories went. And Fiona was enough for any woman to be jealous of.

Right now she wore a dark green frock that was the sort of color and cut of an older woman, but on her it seemed the height of fashion. Elizabeth's hair was wheat gold, but Fiona's dark brown tresses complimented her creamy skin in a way that defied fashion. Add to that the confidence Donovan had instilled in his daughter, and you had a woman that men would lust after, making other women seem pale and insignificant in comparison. Fortunately he and Elizabeth had been married long enough to have weathered enough storms to make their marriage a solid one.

"Maybe you need to be patient with Kevin," Elizabeth spoke up, "He's old fashioned Irish and you are a New Woman. You're exactly what he's not used to. You are obviously in love and that will help you work out your differences. You're going to have to learn how to have quarrels, and be willing to compromise." She held up her hand as Fiona started to object. "I know, it's going to be hard, but if one party isn't willing to yield on occasion, it's going to cause resentment. I'm afraid with Kevin you're going to have to learn to be the one who compromises, just figure out how to do it on your terms. Don't let him bully you, and let him know you twon't stand for it."

Fiona sank down on the sofa, "You two seem so perfect for each other. Kevin and I have so much in common on one hand, then again, we are so different. I know there's times when he doesn't know what to think of me."

"He certainly didn't know that you carried a knife in your boot, but look what happened because of that." Robert refilled Fiona's glass. "You showed him just what you can do, exactly what you are capable of. You impressed him, Fiona, in the admirable way you refused to be a victim. Personally, I don't think any two people on this earth can be more suited to each other than the two of you. Be patient, Corky will come around, He's a man, my dear, with a man's pride. I think if you remember that, you'll get what you want, maybe even more than what you want."

Fiona drained her glass. "Of course you're right, Robert. I'm not very patient and school did nothing to improve that. Corky and I will see you tomorrow morning. I'm actually nervous about this—I thought it was the groom who got cold feet before the wedding."

Morehouse watched as James brought her coat and saw her to the door. "You know, dear," he said to his wife, "I almost feel sorry for Corky, almost. He's met his match with her, and I hope he's smart enough to know it." Elizabeth took his arm and smiled.

"I don't envy her, either, but I imagine they're going to be happy. I've seen how he looks at her, he never looked at me like that."

Donovan was standing in the parlor when she got home, waiting for her, a troubled look on his face.

"They found another body, Fi. Washed up just where the last ones did. He didn't even bother to sink this one. She's young, too, younger than you."

"Her throat slit? Was her throat slit, Pa?"

"Aye, and not a stitch of clothing on her. Corky's going to need help, and I believe you can help him, just wait for him to ask." He shook his head, "How many more girls are going to die before we find this bastard? I want him caught and out of my district, the sooner the better."


	7. Corcoran's Women, Part 3

Corcoran struggled to fit into his "marrying and burying" suit. It occurred to him that the younger man who had worn this suit for his first wedding had grown bulkier. Maybe it was the younger bride that was making him notice it, but he decided that maybe it was time the suit be replaced.

He would have preferred to spend more time at the crime scene, but the Captain had dismissed him, reminding him that he should be on time to meet his fiancée. Funny how after Ellen had died he had no desire to be married again, but a spritely girl disguised as a boy had changed his mind without even trying. It wasn't Donovan, he decided, maybe it was fate.

He heard a knock at the door and opened it to find Robert Morehouse standing before him. "Thought you might need a lift, Corky, it beats walking uptown anyway."

"Thanks, Major, don't mind if I do." They got into the carriage in companionable silence. He didn't even mind when Morehouse began to tease him about marrying the general's daughter.

"It wouldn't make sense not to," he answered him, "I'd be a fool to let this girl get away. If I did, I don't think I'd find another one like her. She has brains, beauty, common sense, courage, and as much as I loved Ellen, Fiona isn't needy like she was. I feel bad bringing her to Five Points, but she grew up there. She's adaptable, and that's what a copper's wife needs to be. I just have to remember to pay more attention to my marriage and not take her for granted. I learned a hard lesson losing Ellen, I'm going to do better this time."

"I think that's very wise, Corky. I think you have a jewel of a girl, one whose price is above rubies. I think you're going to be very happy."

There was something in the air, Corcoran decided, that was making the day sweet, no awkwardness, no regretting a freedom soon to be lost. It was spring in Five Points and he could feel the presence of new beginnings.

The Donovan's and Elizabeth were waiting for him, along with Fiona. She wore a dress the color of a dark red rose, a pillbox hat trimmed in black velvet pinned onto her head. She looked so heartbreakingly beautiful that Corcoran wondered what he had done to deserve this girl.

She took his face in her gloved hands and kissed him. "Ready?" she teased, as he tucked her hand under his arm.

"I told you that you weren't getting away, didn't I? Well, now you know I mean it. You're stuck with me now."

Elizabeth threw them a luncheon to celebrate, small and intimate. He wanted to get back to his work but he let himself be coaxed into staying and drinking a little too much champagne. It was Fiona who noticed his impatience and whispered to him that he should go back to work. She took him by the hand and led him into the foyer to whisper her goodbyes as he took her in his arms.

"It's what makes you a good copper, my love, that makes you want to attend to your work the way you do. I don't mind, I understand, and I think the others do, too."

He put his arms around her and was about to kiss her when Donovan came into the room.

"Ah, the two lovebirds saying their goodbyes. I'm glad I caught ye before ye left, Corky. I wanted to give you this."

He handed Corcoran a fat envelope. "What's this sir?" said Corcoran, suspicious of what it held.

"My dowry, if I'm correct. Isn't that right Pa? And you should have my mother's marriage portion for me, yes?" Fiona locked eyes with her father. "And you should make it clear to Corky that this is not a bribe, but a gift."

Donovan handed Fiona an envelope that was less full than the other, but she seemed satisfied with it as she weighed it in her hand. "Listen to your fiancée, Corky. I'll be leaving the two of you now." They watched him disappear through the door into the drawing room.

"Fiona, we can't accept this…" began Corcoran, but she cut him off.

"Yes, we can. We've both been poor, and know what it means. This is money we may need someday, and I'm not too proud to take it. Besides, we've done a very good thing for him, something he had no reason to count on."

"Corky, he has all sorts of money and other things hidden away. I've managed to find his hiding places over the years. There are places in the house he's forgotten about, not to mention the stashes in his office. He had no idea how much I know."

"He's up to something. I haven't broken into his office in some time, but he always had secret deals going on, deals that are being done under the table. I found out because I used to read some of the things I found. He's up to no good, from what I've been able to find out. As much as he helps out the people in Five Points, he'd turn on them in a minute if there was a profit to be made. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd be willing to help us one day, and then turn on us the next."

"I'm going to raid some of the stashes, and see what he's been up to. This," she hefted the envelope, "May be blood money, but it will be put it to good use. And Corky," she paused and her eyes welled with tears, "I'm afraid that one of these days either you or I will have to kill him. That's how bad I think it's gotten."

Corcoran handed her his envelope, "I'll give this to you then, do whatever you want with it. You warned me about marrying the daughter of the ward boss, I think you're proving right. I hope it won't come down to having to kill him. Either way, we'll be meeting at the Church in two weeks to say our 'I do's'. Giving her one last, lingering kiss, he handed her the envelope and walked out of the Morehouse's and hailed a hansom to take him to Five Points.

A girl was standing in an alley where prostitutes and their johns were known to frequent. She looked quite lost, standing there in her worn dress and bonnet. Every so often she wiped her eyes on her sleeve, obviously in distress, thought an elegantly dressed gentleman who was in the alleyway searching for girls. Better to avoid the houses where some of his friends frequented, here he could remain safely anonymous.

He didn't know if this girl was one of the whores who haunted the maze of Five Points, hoping to earn a pitiful living. A few brave, and smarter, girls walked the streets alone, hoping to avoid being preyed upon by a pimp. He didn't know this girl's story, maybe she was a prostitute, maybe not. Either way, she had an innocent look to her, and those were the girls he liked the best.

"May I help you, my dear?" The approach was foolproof. Show a little politeness, a little fake concern, and they would be caught off guard, unaware of what would follow.

She shoved a piece of paper in his face, on it were sketches of the faces of two girls—it took little imagination to guess what their fate had been. He took the paper and examined it carefully.

"Pardon me sir, do ye recognize either of those girls? They've been missing for the longest time, and the coppers just found their bodies. One of them may be me sister, but I dinna know the other. I'd be so grateful if ye could tell me anything."

Her brogue was definitely lower class, but she looked far too pretty and fresh to live in the slums. He guessed she was young and had not yet been dragged down by life in Five Points. She might even be a virgin, he thought, the possibility enticing him.

"Well, I don't know who they were, but if you let me have the drawing I could ask around. A pretty girl like you shouldn't be haunting these streets, even if she's looking for her sister. Yes, I'd like to help you if you'd be willing to do a favor for me." He took a menacing step towards her.

"I'm a good Catholic girl, I am, I'll no ask favors from gentlemen who should know better. I'll be on me way now, good day to ye sir."

"Not so fast now," he said, and grabbed one of his thick braids and pulled her to him.

"Sir," she said, "Please let me go. I'm a good girl, a virgin," she tried to push him away, but she wasn't struggling as much as he expected. "I'm not for the likes of you."

He had her almost face to face now. He grabbed her slim waist, thinking that he had her, when she put her hands on his shoulders and kneed him sharply in the groin. He released her, doubled over, and when he caught his breath, grabbed his derringer and pointed it at her.

The sound of a revolver cocking made him look up, straight into Detective Corcoran's steely blue eyes. "Drop it, now," he commanded and Fiona pulled out her small pistol and aimed it between his eyes.

"I'd advise you to do what the detective said," her ghetto Irish brogue now gone and the tones of uptown clear in her voice, "Picking on poor defenseless girls when there's plenty of whores walking these streets."

He started to put his gun away, equally confused at the arrival of the cop and the transformation of a simple Irish girl to an ice-eyed vixen. He didn't know what he'd walked into, but he wanted out, and would head to the nearest bar to drink this away as soon as he could.

"Drop your gun and get out of here," Corcoran repeated, and he dropped his gun and started to run, not slowing down till he was clear of the alleyway.

Fiona replaced her derringer in her pocket and began to laugh. "Did you see the look on his face? Priceless. I think I'm going to do this more often if this is what happens."

"You think this is fun?" Corcoran took hold of her arm and dragged her further into the alley, searching for a place where no one could see them. He propped his foot on a box and pulled her over his knee and lifted her skirts. His un-gentle hand began to smack her while she tried in vain to hit him and force him to let her go.

He hadn't known what he expected from his actions, and if he'd hoped for tears and remorse he didn't get it. She slid off his knee and tried to aim a right hook at him, but his boxer's reflexes kicked in and she missed him. He took hold of her arms, shaking her, saying, "What the hell did you think you were doing? You could have gotten hurt, you scared the bejaysus out of me."

She stood, arms akimbo, "I got away from three kidnappers didn't I? This was nothing. I didn't intend to run into him, I was only out talking to the girls. I didn't find him, he found me." She patted the pocket where her gun lay, "Besides, this is all the protection I need, though I do thank you for your help, it was appreciated. What were you doing here anyway?"

"My job," he met her eye to eye, "And didn't I tell you not to get involved in this?"

"And did I tell you I'd listen?" she countered, "I never did like being told what to do."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me? Come on, you're going home." He started to pull her out of the alley, but she pulled back.

"I'll be nice if you promise to listen to, I have something that may be of use to you."

"All right, Fi. But we're looking for a hansom and I'm going to ride with you to make sure you _go home_." She submitted, knowing she'd won half the battle and they finally found a cab that would take them uptown."

"Look at this," she said as the horse clopped its way up the street. She pulled a sheet of paper out of her pocket. "I talked to some girls and they gave me names of ones who've disappeared. I tried to go back three months, and got a couple of names, but most of the names are fairly recent, a couple of them disappeared two months back, the others gone barely a month if that."

"The girls think there may be a 'sick trick' targeting them. Since there's been no one who's had an encounter with him that's survived, no one knows what he looks like. Some think he's a copper, which may be but I'm not sure. They're not getting much help from their pimps, they just want their earnings and to hell with the risk."

"Is it a pimp maybe?" Corcoran's curiosity was piqued. He was trying to figure out the angles, where to find the perp, how he might best set a trap. When would he next strike?

"No, not a pimp, I'm sure of it. The girls don't think so, either. Not that their pimps are being much help, they expect them to work and bring the money. I guess losing a girl isn't a loss, there'll always be another to take her place. But I think he has to work the street because that's the only way he can avoid being caught. If he kills a girl in a brothel, how will he get rid of the body or would he be able to slip out unnoticed? Maybe, maybe not. What I want to know is how long before he panics and just leaves a body instead of dumping it in the river?"

"You would have made a good copper Fiona, but this stops now. I don't want to find your body floating in the river, or lying in an alleyway."

"But what if you worked with me? Listen the girls will talk to you because they like you, but you're still a copper. Me, they trusted. I wore old, plain clothes; I talked with Pa's brogue; I'm clearly no threat. The girls might not hold back from coppers, but I'm just another girl. I'm harmless, I'm not one of them, but I'm sympathetic and a woman. I understand their plight."

He shook his head, "No, you forget about this. If I have to put a 24 hour guard on your house and have someone escort you everywhere you go, I'll do it. Sullivan won't give me much trouble because you're Donovan's daughter. You have better things to think about—like planning a wedding. "

She laid her head on his shoulder. "Don't go trying to play tyrant, you knew what you were getting, now didn't you?"

"Yes, I did." He smiled at her and kissed her, "Can you slip out of your house tonight and meet me?"

"Maybe I don't want to, or maybe I do. Maybe you have something to apologize for before I consider saying 'yes'."

"Oh, no," he shook his head, "I'm definitely not apologizing for that, matter of fact, I'll probably do it again."

"Then be prepared to get in trouble for it," she replied.

He took hold of her shoulders and whispered in her ear, "Please, say yes. Your ma and pa are gone tonight at some shindig at Tammany. Please, Fiona?"

He blew gently in her ear, making her shiver. "Not fair, Corky, and you haven't even apologized to me."

"Let me see you tonight, and we'll see about that." Then he repeated what he had said to her once before. "Say yes, Fiona, just say yes. 

The hansom had reached her front door. She smiled at him triumphantly, "Maybe." She opened the cab door herself and turned to him. "Maybe," she repeated, pleased with herself, knowing just how frustrated he probably felt. "Maybe I'll find you, you never know." She shut the door and waved the cab on.


	8. Chapter 8

The grey light of dawn filtered into the room as Corcoran watched Fiona sleep while he dressed. He didn't want to wake her, he liked seeing her hair tousled about her face, cheeks flushed, looking more like twelve than twenty. He longed to pull his clothes off and climb back into the bed and hold her tightly—among other things.

She stirred and opened her eyes. "Why didn't you wake me?" She sat up and tried to brush her hair out of her face, but the long strands didn't cooperate.

"I was letting you sleep," he sat next to her on the bed, and helped her pull her hair out of the way. Her silky mass of hair felt heavy in his hands and absently, he ran his fingers through it, loving the feel.

She gently pulled his hand away. "Tell you what, Corcoran, you can let me sleep when I'm pregnant, or better still, after the baby comes. I want to get up when you do, whether you're grumpy or talkative, or just want to be quiet. Christ, sometimes it feels like you think I'm a child, I'm not, nor am I going to be your child bride. I don't mind a little spoiling, just let me be your wife—when we're in bed you certainly…"

He cut her off by kissing her. "All right, wife, if you don't want to sleep, get dressed." He picked up her clothes and dropped them on the bed. "We need to get you home. I'm surprised that Donovan hasn't horsewhipped the both of us for what we've been doing, though I have to admit it might be worth it."

"Ah, but he won't do that. He's pushing too hard for this marriage. I don't know where this is coming from, whether it's him or Tammany. He wants something from you, but he's being too canny to show his cards." She sat up and began to dress, "I'm afraid he thinks he's buying you, using first me, then money as bait." She lowered her head, then was quiet for a moment. "He knows he can't buy you, or at least he should. I know him better than anyone in the world, but sometimes I can't even guess what he's up to. I can't always stay ahead of him, but sometimes it seems like I can read his mind."

She stood up to put on her petticoat and skirt. "I think you should expect a promotion, probably after we're married." She put her hand over his mouth as he started to object. "Listen to me, Corky, if he tries to use you, then you make sure you use him. We make sure that Pa and Tammany knows that they don't own either of us. I can help you, Corky. We can have a good life without dancing to their tune. Will you trust me on this?"

"I don't think I'd want to take you on. Damn it, Fi, you think like a politician, but for us that may be a good thing. I think Morehouse was right, I have a jewel of a wife, one whose price is above rubies." He pulled her close to him, loving the feel of her the way he always did, then released her. He put his hands on her shoulders, "I just want you to be careful. Tammany would not hesitate to bring you down. I don't want to find out I have a dead wife."

"And you won't. I'll be careful, I promise. We have too many good days ahead of us to waste them."

They walked, arm in arm, careless of proprieties, until they reached uptown. Corcoran looked around at the houses and wondered again if he was wrong to take her out of here to live in the squalor of Five Points.

She seemed to read his mind. "Don't think about that, Corky. Remember, I didn't start my life uptown. Pa and I lived in a dingy little house where I had to clean and cook as well as go to school. I had to work hard, but I believe in hard work. We can do things to make your house better, but I'll take the people of Five Points over the rich and fancy bastards that live here. I'm tough, you don't realize just how tough I am. I was a little urchin who ran the streets, just like you. We aren't so different, you just don't realize that. There's more freedom for me in Five Points than there will ever be here."

He tightened his arm around her shoulders. "You're one of a kind, Fiona. I'll never guess how I got lucky and got you. Now here's the General's house, you may be able to sneak in unnoticed. I'll bet you know how."

"That I do," she agreed, "Kiss me, husband, while no one is looking, then I'll let myself in. By the way," she added, "I do love you."

"And you," he said, "You've had my around your little finger since I first laid eyes on you in your pa's drawing room." He kissed her, hoping no one would see, then let her go and headed back to Five Points.

The precinct house was blessedly quiet. Sometimes he liked it this way, it was easier to think. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette and found the pieces of paper she had shown him. She must have stuck it in his pocket.

He pulled the paper out smoothing it and began to look at it. Damn, this girl did think like a cop. Before him was names of missing girls, their friends, their pimps, where they liked to "work". Next to the name of each girl was the day someone noticed they were missing.

Which had nothing to do when they might have disappeared. Fiona might be right, he considered, maybe it was easier for her to cajole information out of the girls. He prided himself on being a lady's man, while not admitting it. The one thing he lacked was the easy charm Fiona seemed to have in abundance. With him the girls would have been coy and flirtatious, Fiona would have been able to gossip and lead the conversation where she wanted it to go. On the street she would not have been the general's daughter, just a girl looking for a missing sister, and her disarming manner would have made them feel at ease.

The information was useful, but it still didn't point in the direction of the killer. Except that it did point to a possible where. The disappearances seemed to cluster in one general area, but what was missing was a "who", a possible suspect.

"Patterns, Corky," a voice said in his ear, "look for patterns." He looked up, searching for the source, but he was still alone in the squadroom. Halloran, he thought to himself. How many years had his old mentor been dead, anyway?

Diarmaid Halloran had mentored him when he first became a detective. A large, florid man with the butt of a cigar perpetually in his mouth, Halloran had taught him everything he knew about being a copper. Like him, Halloran knew every alley in the maze that was Five Points. He possessed an uncanny ability to close cases that everyone else had given up on, including those that Sullivan wished he would leave alone.

"Don't ever listen to 'em, laddie," he said of Sullivan, "he's sat behind that desk for so long now he's forgotten what it's like to be a copper, he couldn't close a case if the solution was on a silver platter. Don't ever listen to any of 'em. Follow a case to where that long nose of yours leads you. Instinct, laddie, it's all instinct. Look at the facts in front of you and eventually they'll lead you to what they're looking for. Patterns, look for patterns. Look at the faces and listen, a good copper has to listen with his eyes and ears. You'll make a good copper, at least you got the nose for it!" Halloran had laughed at this, and poured himself another glass of the whisky he seemed to keep at endless supply.

Okay, Corcoran, what's the pattern here? Fiona had been careful to document locations where the missing girls frequented. He was familiar enough with the streets, but if he could physically see them, would it make more sense? Not a solution, but an ever elusive clue, a place to start, that this crime was lacking. He'd be grateful now for anything that would help him find a place to start.

"Patterns." He slapped his hand on his desk. Thank you Halloran, he thought. He pulled out his watch and paused a moment to listen to the melody of the chimes. Fiona loved the tune as much as Ellen had. Seven o'clock, soon enough for vendors in the street and the bakeries to open. Enough time to get some food to fill his empty stomach, then run uptown for what he needed. Patterns.

It was almost eight when he returned to the precinct, a bundle under his arm. He pulled it out, revealing a detailed map of the city. He spread it out, then secured it with borrowed and stolen paperweights. He pulled out his pen and ink from the desk drawer, and drew a careful line around the Five Points district. Then he drew out Fiona's notes and put a black dot near where each girl was said to have disappeared.

A pattern. The girls were disappearing near Mott and Bayard. Getting near the Bowery, he thought, but I bet they didn't have anything to do with this. Patrons of the Bowery Theater? Maybe, but maybe not. Had there only been one or two bodies, maybe, but surely not five.

He took out his knife and started playing with it, a nervous habit he'd developed since joining the force. Someone familiar with the neighborhood, then. They'd have to get the bodies to the river, though. Someone with a carriage? A wagon? Or maybe someone who dumped the bodies much further upstream and knowing they'd drift away from the dump site? Did he not suspect that the bodies would break free from the weights and surface? Or did he think that no one would care if the bodies were discovered?

Still no suspicion of a suspect, that elusive "who". Corcoran put away his knife and stared at the map, as if he wished it could speak and tell him what he wanted to know.

"Corky," O'Brien called out as he and Maguire walked into the room. "Another body to look at. Hey," he picked up the remains of the loaf of bread Corcoran had made his breakfast. "Can I have some of this?"

"Take it, Andrew. Did you say another body?" He wiped his hands and put on his hat as the three mates left the squad room and took to the streets. "Where?"

"Near where they've found all the others. Sybil is panicking, she's sure that they're going to come for her next. She's demanding that I solve the case—now, mind you."

Corcoran winked at Maguire. Sybil was legendary in the squad room. The tiny woman's reputation for bullying her six foot five husband had made O'Brien the butt of many jokes.

"Tell her she doesn't have to worry, the murderer only goes after the pretty ones." Maguire laughed at his own joke, Corcoran joined in.

O'Brien failed to see the humor. "Just wait until you're married again, Corky, I can imagine what Fiona is going to put you through. At least I know my wife doesn't roam Five Points. I haven't had to get her out of some trouble she's gotten herself into." Or put me through, he thought.

Corcoran stopped laughing. Andrew had a point. Even if he thought he could control Fiona's actions, the fact was that he couldn't. He could bargain, negotiate, even plead, but he hoped that when they were married he could make her understand that he only wanted what was best for her, and him. Spanking her pretty little bottom would certainly do no good, even if he could control himself.

"Aha," said Andrew, "You admit it. Now who's going to have the most trouble with his wife?"

"Well, we know who won't be dealing with a shrew," Maguire remarked helpfully, "We all know just how sweet Fiona is. So, maybe she won't be so biddable at first, she's a young thing, give her time. When there's a babe in the cradle she won't be straying so far away from home." He smiled knowingly, even though his luck with women was bleak at best.

Andrew was ready to fire back at this, but they had reached the river. A blanket covered a figure on the sock, the skirt of a dress and boots showing underneath.

Corcoran gingerly picked up a corner of the blanket then dropped it and walked away. Maguire looked, tears in his eyes, then O'Brien took his turn. "Jayzus," he said, then like the other two, looked away.

For this one had not seen an easy death. Her eyes and mouth, still pouring water, were wide with fear. Her hair plastered to her dress like wet seaweed. She still wore her dress, bonnet, and shoes for the killer had tied her to an anchor and thrown her, still living, into the river. She did not have the cut under her chin to indicate her throat had been cut, she had met her death by drowning.

"That poor girl," Maguire said, "what she must have been thinking before she finally drowned. The bastard who did this ought to swing."

"That's the idea, Francis, but unless we get some leads he'll just keep on doing what he's doing. Damn this case, anyway. I've less than two weeks before my wedding, how can I walk down the aisle with this hanging over my head?"

"You'll have to, Corky," replied O'Brien, "You owe it to Fiona. Don't lose this girl or you'll regret it."

"Yes, you and everyone else is telling me that, and I don't disagree. I'm not going to let her get away. I'm marrying her whether this case is closed or not, I just wish I could come up with just one solid lead." He turned to the patrolmen standing behind him, "Take this one to Grimes and tell him to check for everything, signs of rape, bruises, anything. It's all I've got to go on right now." The three detectives watch as the body was wrapped and hauled away.

"Come on, boys, I need a drink." They headed up the street to Eva's.

The patroness of Eva's Paradise was standing behind her bar. She'd poured three drinks before they even asked, sensing without asking that they needed them. She stood silent and sympathetic as they downed their whisky, refilling the glasses before they even asked.

"Well," she said, "I see by the look on your faces that you haven't learned anything. Did you find another body?"

"Eva, have you heard anything?" Corcoran tried to keep the despair he felt out of his voice, "All we have is more bodies and no suspects. Though there's lots of girls on the street, I keep wondering if he's going to get tired of hunting street girls, and turn to the brothels. I worry about you and the girls here. This man, if that's what he is, has no face. He could be anyone, he could be drinking at your bar and you wouldn't even know. "

"I know that, Corky, I think about it too. All of us who own whorehouses are being more careful these days with our girls, but we have no way of knowing if he's in our midst. He could slip in and out and we wouldn't know it. A couple girls have left because of this, but we can't afford to shut down."

"If you hear anything, let me know. Immediately. I know how gossip travels here, I think that's my only hope. Goodbye, Eva.'

"Be careful, Corky." She watched his tall, stocky figure disappear with his friends. She didn't dare tell him how scared she was, how scared they all were. She didn't dare turn away new customers, but she didn't want her girls hurt. But anyone she didn't know had become a possible threat, and she couldn't keep operating if her girls got scared and quit.


	9. Chapter 9

The girl stood by herself, a block from the Bowery Theatre. She tried to put on a brave face, forcing herself to smile, even though inside she felt scared. Why should she be scared, she told herself, she'd done this before. This was necessary, her scarce wage as a parlor maid was not enough to truly support her, to have a few nice things, or maybe to save a bit. This was not meant to last, it was just to earn some badly needed money. All she had to do close her eyes while it was happening, it was always over in a few minutes. To keep from losing her nerve, she thought of the coins she'd earned the night before, and the night before that.

Suddenly she heard voices, realizing that the performance was over and people were leaving the theater. All she had to do was find a gentleman who had separated from the crowd, and approach him. She was neatly dressed in an old velvet skirt and blue satin bodice. A velvet cape lay over her shoulders, opened to reveal her round white breasts. She'd put the slightest bit of red rouge on her lips and cheeks, and knew that she presented a fetching picture. One or two men tonight, and then she'd go home to her little bed that she shared with another maid in the attic.

She took a few steps towards a man who was walking briskly in the moonlight. She could tell he was a gentleman by his garments, and gentlemen seemed to like girls like her. She stood up, pulled her bodice down a little and approached him.

"S'cuse me sir, were you interested in some company this fine night?"

"Well," he said, "What have we here? Do you have a name, girl, or shall I give you one?" He smiled, showing even white teeth.

"Penny, sir, my name is Penny." She held her head up and put on a smile. Courage, girl, courage. Looks like he's interested, keep him that way.

"Well, Penny, and a pretty shiny Penny you are! What would you like to do for me?"

She forced herself to be braver, coquettish. "Anything you like sir. Whatever you might please."

"Well, then," he took her arm, gripping hard, hurting, "You be a good girl and come with me, and there'll be a new silver dollar in it for you.'

She wanted to pull away, this was feeling all wrong, but he was stronger than her, dragging her into an alley . "It's over in a minute, love," she told herself, "Just hold on long enough and it will all be over and then you can go home."

They were safely out of sight, the alley empty. "Just stand there," he instructed her, lifting her skirts. She heard him fumble with his pants and waited for what she knew would follow.

But it was not quite what she expected. He was rough, hurting, twisting her arm behind her back. She stifled an urge to scream, instead counting down the seconds until he stopped. Any time now, any time now.

He grunted as he finished, then she felt cold steel against her neck. So quick was he with his blade that as he slit her throat that she barely felt it, knowing only that something was wrong when she fell to the cobblestones. She didn't even know she was dying as the life ran out of her. Only when it all began to turn black did she realize that something was wrong, that she must have chosen the wrong man. She must be more careful next time, she thought, as she took her last breath, her worries about money over for good.

He stood looking at the girl's body. Time to get her out of here before someone saw. He took off his cape to wrap it around her when he heard footsteps coming into the alley. Keep going, he thought, just keep going, but they were coming towards him. He dropped the cape and ran out of the alley, hoping that he could come back and take before day broke. In the meantime, he would take no chances and ran.

Fiona was stretched out on the recaumier in her room, trying to convince herself that going over the list of guests for her wedding was important. This list was mercifully short, and all she needed to do was write notes to her intended guests. Corky could tell his friends, and she need only dread her father inviting half of Tammany.

The wedding ceremony itself would be small and private. No fancy decorations in the chapel, a minimal amount of flowers, just enough to make it look like a wedding was taking place. They'd come back here for a small reception and dancing, something simple and friendly, she told herself.

Her dress was made. Sarah had done a beautiful job in the short time she had. Just a simple pink silk dress trimmed with white lace. She'd pin her hair up and cover it with a white lace mantilla. She'd already tried it on and knew she looked lovely. Corky would be so pleased. This was intended not as a fancy wedding, but a wedding party in every sense of the word. And after the party was over, she and Corky would slip off to his house, no fuss, no showers of rice, just her and her man—married at last.

She heard a tap at the door and opened it, revealing the new girl she had hired carrying a tea tray. "Why Penelope," she frowned, "Where is Ramona? Is that tray too heavy for you? Why isn't Ramona serving my tea?"

The maid bobbed a courtesy. "She's no here, Miss Fiona. She had a day off and was supposed to be back this morning, only she hasn't shown. Mrs. Donovan said I should take over her duties until she comes back."

"Well, if you're going to do her work, then you should get her pay in addition to yours. I'll see to that myself. I'm going to want my bath later on, see that you get help fetching the water. And Penelope, please tell me when Ramona comes back that I want to talk to her."

She poured her own tea, feeling that something was amiss. Ramona could be undependable, though not so badly as her mother thought. She was a sweet, pretty thing, a bit simple, but amiable and cooperative most of the time. If she had the luxury of bringing two maids with her when she moved into Kevin's house, she'd bring Ramona with her. As it was she was only bringing Rose, her longtime handmaid. Between the two of them they'd keep the house running smoothly. Of course Kevin didn't about that yet, but living without Rosie was not an option.

She looked up at the clock as it chimed three o'clock. Where was Ramona? However careless and undependable she could be, she'd never been this late before. Something was not right.

The girl's body lay there through the night and the next day. He hadn't come to claim the body or retrieve the expensive silk cape that half covered her. No one penetrated deep into the alley to discover where she lay until a young patrolman, barely two weeks on the force, wandered into the alley to take a leak and saw the shiny silk cape. It looked like it could fetch a penny or two so he picked it up, then dropped it when he saw what was hidden beneath.

Corcoran, Maguire, and O'Brien knelt together in the alley, shaking their heads over the pretty girl that had been discarded like so much trash. Her finery had been soiled by the dirt in the alley, but death had left barely its mark on her pretty face. Corcoran gently tilted her chin, revealing the ugly red wound beneath her neck. "Shite," he said, echoing the thoughts of the others.

He picked up the cape, feeling its heavy thickness. It was expensive, even he could tell that. Just heavy enough for spring nights when wool might be too warm. And this looked like quality silk, and fine craftsmanship. Certainly handmade, maybe by a local tailor? But no label, though he could see where one had once been sewed in. Nothing to go on except a body and a cape. He'd keep the cape with him, maybe Morehouse might recognize the handiwork. Maybe this cape had a footprint.

He looked again at the body, something about the girl looked familiar. She didn't have the look of a whore somehow. She seemed too fresh, not worn down by the life as many of them did eventually. He looked at her hands and saw that the nails had been cut short, maybe to make up for them breaking. And her hands showed signs of hard work, not soft like someone who did little physical labor. A maid maybe, trying to make some extra money. He put his finger gently down the bodice, and withdrew a silver dollar.

That face, now he knew where he had seen her. She'd stood behind the butler that first night when he met Fiona. He remembered her, a little bit of a thing, trying hard to avoid his eyes. After that, if he'd seen her he'd taken no note of her. She was just an anonymous face, a cog in the machinery that kept Donovan's house running. He was almost ashamed of the way he'd grown accustomed to not noticing the servants, though they were involved in almost every aspect of life in the houses uptown.

"Take her to Grimes' office ," he told the other two, "I'll meet you there. I think this is one of the Donovan's servants. I'm going to go get Fiona to see if she can identify her. He'll make time for Donovan's daughter, even if he's busy."

"Sure Corky," said O'Brien. He'd solved one mystery as to why Donovan's daughter and Corcoran seemed so well suited. They both had a natural tendency to take charge of situations—good luck with that, Corky. Neither of them knew how to move slowly. Each had a mind that never seemed to stop working. The only person who could keep up with Corky was Fiona. He'd given up a long time ago.

Fiona was dressed to go out by the time Corcoran knocked at the door. She answered it herself, not wanting to bother Oliver the butler when she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. That was one of the many things the servants liked about her.

"Corky!" She said when she saw him standing in front of her. She motioned him inside, looking into his eyes, seeing that something was wrong. She drew him into the small drawing room and sat him down.

"What's wrong?" She said simply.

He took her hands in his. "Sweetheart, I hate to tell you this, but I think one of your maids has been murdered."

She sank down on the sofa next to him. "Does she have light brown hair? Rather small? Blue eyes?"

Well they were blue, thought Corcoran grimly. "Is one of your girls missing?"

"Yes. Her name is Ramona, she's a parlour maid. I gave her a day off, but she didn't come back. She can be undependable, but it's not like her to go missing. I never care if they're a little late coming back, I can count on even the ones like Ramona to be back if they're supposed to. When she hadn't shown by this afternoon I was worried something was wrong."

"And you were right, darlin'. I hate to do this, but I need for you to come down and look at her body and tell me if it's her." His kissed the top of her head, not missing the little tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"All right, I'll order the carriage. I'm not walking downtown for this." She disappeared for a moment, and he learned against the back of the settee. She wasn't taking it well, but he hadn't expected her too. Fiona could pull herself together and do what she needed to do, that was one of the many things he liked about her, one of the reasons he knew that he'd chosen the right girl.

When the carriage was announced, he was surprised to see she had covered her head. She hated bonnets, but would consent to wear hats. Right now she wore a dark grey suit, fitting for the occasion. He held her hand during the ride to the Grimes' office, to give her encouragement. This was not going to be easy for her, it would not be easy for anyone.

They didn't speak because there was nothing to say. She was going to view the body of one of the maids, someone whom she saw every day, that she said good morning to. Who brought her coffee and made her bed, who she shared simple conversation with as she went about the room, doing her daily chores.

When they arrived at Grimes' office, Maguire and O'Brien were there to meet them. Corky took her arm and led her into the office. The doctor said no more than a "Good afternoon Miss Donovan", before he led her straight away to the room where the body lay.

Fiona pulled back the sheet herself, shocked at the sight of the girl whose presence had been so constant she almost took her for granted. The body was white, drained of blood, her skin shockingly exposed. She took removed a glove and lifted the girl's chin gently in order to see the cut underneath. Corky did not need to ask, "Is it her?" Fiona was taking in the ghastly sight, then stroking the girl's hair, she gave her a kiss on the forehead and replaced the sheet.

"Corky, take me home," she told him and he nodded to Grimes. Maguire and O'Brien looked at her with sympathy, and she said a quiet "thank you" to them before she got into the carriage with Corcoran. Not until then did she break down, crying uncontrollably until they arrived at her house.

Her sobbing finally ceased, and she held Corcoran's hand tightly, not wanting to let it go. They sat in the carriage, she reluctant to get out, while he did not want to leave her alone. "Don't leave me," she whispered.

He put his arm around her still shaking shoulders. "Shall I come for you tonight?" he said softly into her ear. "I'm here if you need me, Fi."

She looked at him and nodded. "Please," she said, and got out of the carriage and ran into the house lest he see that she was crying again.


	10. Better Days?

It was the middle of the night before Fiona finally fell asleep. Unable to sleep himself, Corcoran sat in a chair and watched her.

He had discovered a vulnerability in her that he knew was must be there, but had been held back by the steely control she kept on her life. How many things had she let loose in the tears shed over her maid, he wondered. He was glad she had allowed herself to grieve, and even more that she was not afraid to turn to him.

He brushed her hair back from her forehead. "I love you sweet girl," he whispered, "I can't make things all better but I'll try, I promise."

He sighed, sleep was going to be impossible. He put on his pants and shirt and lit a cigarette and poured himself a whisky. If he couldn't sleep, he could at least watch over her. He'd spend the rest of his life, watching over her, he promised himself. He'd failed Ellen by not understanding what she needed. If he'd known the girl he married had been in such desperate need of him, what would he have done? Would he have married her? Could he have made her understand his need to do the things he did? Or would he have realized her need of him would have been like a stone around his neck?

Fiona stirred in her sleep, murmuring something he could not understand. She reached for him, not finding him she drew a pillow to her. He got on the bed so he'd be there if she needed him. Why was it easier with her, he wondered. In some ways she was very like Eva, possessed the qualities that he found so admirable in the German madam. Independence, certainly, a sense of what she wanted, intelligence—her mind almost scared him sometimes. He was going to have to face the fact that Fiona would never be happy being just a housewife. Donovan must have recognized that in her, otherwise he never would have sent her to Vasser.

He looked out at the slowly lightening sky. He hated to do it, but he was going to have to wake her and take her home. The Donovan's would help get her through the next few days, the General had his faults, but he dearly loved his beautiful, wayward daughter. This too will pass, he wanted to say to her. He remembered the passage from Ecclesiastics that Father Burke had read over Ellen's death bed: "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." Maybe there was a purpose to this that he could not yet see.

When was the time going to come when he got a break on this case? Finding the body in the alley had been a small break, but that was all. Now he was certain that the perp was preying on girls who walked the streets of the Bowery. He'd not yet had the chance to show the cape to Robert, but he was hoping he might identify who made it. The girl attached to the anchor was either a diversion or she had been drowned by a jealous husband or lover. The M.O. certainly did not fit the others murders. The girl found in the alley might help provide a clue, if they could find someone to link to the crime.

Fiona was crying again. Corcoran wrapped himself around her, holding her tightly. The next few days were certainly going to be hell. And what was worse, he knew her well enough to know that she would try to insinuate her way into the investigation. Even taking his razor strop to her bare bum would not discourage her. Once Fiona made a decision she became single minded. It was too close to the wedding now to ask Robert to take her to his estate in the country. He could not risk anything happening to her, even if it meant asking Donovan to confine her to the house. The loss of her maid should surely alert her to the dangers that awaited her if she did not leave matters to him and the police.

The new clock, the one she had liked and purchased, chimed six. Gently he started to shake her awake. She opened her eyes, looking at him hollow eyed, the dark circles surrounding them rendering them a brilliant green. As if her tears were spent, she shook her head, sitting up and pulling her arms around her legs. He wished he could take away her pain, but he was helpless.

She looked up at him, her expression sweetly sad. "It's not like Ramona was my friend, or that I saw her as family. But I've discovered that servants can become a part of your life, part of your daily routine. Rose is my handmaid, but Ramona did all the little things that I took for granted once I got used to having someone do them. She was always there, she was part of my day. I knew her virtues and her faults. To have her gone so suddenly, so violently, it feels like something was taken away from me. And how scared she must have been at the very last. It hurts, Kevin, it hurts."

He took her hands, holding them tightly. "Fiona, I promise you, I swear before God that I will not stop until I catch whoever killed her. Ramona's death won't be in vain. We have a clue now, not a big one, but I think I have a place to start. You've been right about one thing, I'm going to have to find a girl who's willing to act as a decoy to draw him out. And I don't want it to be you. I want you to promise me that from now on you won't involve yourself in my work. I am going to swallow my pride and not be afraid to ask for your opinions and advice, but I want your promise that it will go no further than that."

"All right," she said reluctantly, "I don't want to make that promise but I will. And since you said you'd be willing to take my advice, here's a suggestion. When you find a girl who agrees to help you, make sure she knows what she's consenting to. A smart girl, one who'll see trouble coming. And you make sure you're there watching her. Promise me that. Also, since you don't want me to, you tell the girls what's going on. They stick together you know, and they take care of each other. Tell them you're my husband, that I sent you to talk to them. Just be honest, and let them know the risk. Someone will be willing to help you, I'm sure.

She leaned over and kissed him. "I'll be all right, Corky, I promise. I'll be even better when you catch whoever did this. I believe in you, you'll find your way." She gave him a smile that told him she did believe in him, and that smile made him feel things would be all right.

Sean Patrick Flynn was the youngest detective on the force, as well as the newest. He felt a new confidence now—he had found a body and kept his head, as well as not throwing up. The other coppers forgave his tears since the girl he had found was barely older than he was, if that. Even his partner, a crotchety old copper named O'Rourke, was proud of him.

They were back patrolling the Bowery when Flynn felt nature's call, as he had when he made his gruesome discovery. The same alley loomed ahead of him, and though he felt a certain hesitation about entering, he decided that he would face his fear, not run away from it. He took a deep breath and began walking rapidly into the depths of the alley, anxious to do his business and leave.

Suddenly he stopped. There, where he had found the body, a man was rummaging through the garbage as if looking for something he could not find. He did not look as if he belonged there, his clothes looked expensive and his shiny black boots did not have a scratch on them.

He looked up and saw Flynn, just long enough for the boy to take in dark hair, eyes, and mustache. Then he turned around and began to run out of the alley, Flynn hard on his tail. He had almost caught up with him when the man took a sudden turn and Flynn lost him.

Flynn turned and ran out of the alley. "Come on," he directed O'Rourke, though the old copper had no hope of keeping up with the young rookie.

"Where be ye going, lad?" He called to him, but the boy did not answer. He saw him run up the stairs of a school and wondered if the boy had taken leave of his senses. But he followed him in, breathing hard, wishing that he'd not agreed to take a young boy on as an apprentice copper, no matter how good he seemed to be at bringing up the young ones.

Flynn almost ran into the headmaster as he entered the school. He looked up, apologized and said, "I need pencil and paper, please. And a place to sit and draw. There's something I need to get down on paper before it goes out of my head."

The school master's irritation gave way to amusement. He found the paper and pencil and let the young copper sit at his desk while he drew.

The lad was good. A face began taking shape. An oval face with a high forehead. Cheekbones high but the plain of the face was rather flat. The black pencil could not reveal the color of the eyes, but the shape was taking place, even the crow's feet at the corners of the eyes, along with deep lines at the side of the mouth, a firm chin, a full head of hair, and a luxurious mustache that revealed a trace of lip beneath.

Flynn set down the pencil and exhaled. He'd been drawing since he was a boy, and though self-taught he knew that the quality of his work was good. He'd joined the force, hoping that this talent could be recognized and put to good use. And this time it had, he had a fairly accurate rendition of the man he had seen in the alleyway. A man who was obviously looking for something he could not find.

Now to find Detective Corcoran and show him, he thought. The case had become personal for him, for he was the one who had found the girl. He saw O'Rourke standing behind him. "Let's go back to the station, sir, I want to show this to Detective Corcoran and tell him what I saw."

"I'll catch up with ye, lad. Go on and run to the precinct house. I know ye want to. I'll be there as soon as me old legs can carry me." O'Rourke watched as the young copper took off, remembering the days when he was young, eager, and fast. He'd be retiring soon, he deserved it. He'd move in with his daughter and entertain his grandchildren with tales of his daring deeds in the Sixth District.

Flynn's legs were sore when he got to the precinct house, breathing hard he asked if Detective Corcoran was anywhere to be found. He was directed to a desk and saw him sitting there, staring at the cloak he'd found in the alley.

"Detective," he said hesitantly, unsure if he should interrupt him, "I have a drawing of someone who was in the alley where I found the girl. He acted like he was looking for something, something he couldn't find. When he saw me he ran, I followed but I couldn't catch him. I made a sketch of him before I forgot what he looked like."

The detective's interest seemed piqued, he held out his hand and Flynn gave him the drawing.

Corcoran stared hard at the drawing young Flynn had given him. The picture he held was as good as any sketch artist in the department would produce, maybe even better. He'd included details like a little scar beneath his eye, the fullness of his lip beneath the mustache, the lines around the eyes that indicated that perhaps the subject was middle aged. There was no proof that this was the killer, but it was the first picture of someone who could be.

"Flynn," Corcoran asked, "Can you do an ink drawing of this picture? I'd like to have some copies printed out and pass it around the Bowery. Maybe some of the girls will recognize it, maybe even have a name for us." He clapped him on his shoulder, "Good job, Flynn. You'd make a good sketch artist. Maybe we can break this case after all.

"I can do it, sir," replied the young copper, "I'll go to work on it right now."

"Good lad, give it to me when you're done. You're doing a good job, you may even make detective someday."

The boy beamed and sat at a vacant desk and began to meticulously duplicate his drawing.

Andrew came in and sat across from Corcoran. "What's this Corky," he asked, tilting his head towards Flynn who was occupied with his drawing.

"We may have a break in case. Flynn found someone rummaging around in the alley in the same place where the girl was found. He tried to run him down, but couldn't, still he got a good look at him and drew a sketch of him that's almost as good as a photo. He'd doing it in ink for me and I'll have some prints made that we can pass around. I've no idea if this is our perp, but between finding the body under the cloak and Flynn getting a good look at someone who took a great deal of interest in the alley, we may have something. God knows we need something, we sure haven't had any luck. Maybe we've found our boy."

"And maybe not, but Flynn's a good kid with a good head on his shoulders. He's doing really well, O'Rourke says, maybe he has the making of a copper in him. In the meantime, I hope this is a break for us. I feel sorry for Fiona, she must be taking it hard."

"She is taking it hard, but she's holding up. She's surrounded by people who care for her, so she doesn't have to go through this alone. We're getting married in a week, and she has that to look forward to."

"How about you, Corky, are you looking forward to it?"

Very funny, Andrew, he thought. "I'm the luckiest man in the world and I know it" he said, "I'm marrying an angel who fell from heaven. I don't know when I've been so happy. And I've learned from my mistakes, Andrew, I'm paying more attention to my marriage. Fiona understands that it's like to be the wife of a copper, and now I understand a little better what it will be like for her. For the first time in a long time I can see good days ahead, and it's about time."

I hope so Corky, Andrew thought, but he'd wait and see. Fiona would have to ride him to make sure he kept his promises. Donovan's daughter was tough, maybe she'd handle Corky better than Ellen had.

Flynn had finished and carefully blotted the drawing. He handed it to Corky, saying, "Is this all right, Detective?" and waited for his response.

"Perfect Flynn, perfect. Go back and find O'Rourke, I'm going to see about having some prints made of this. I don't know if it will break the case, but it may just help. You've given us our first two leads. Good job, kid." Flynn took off, and Corcoran sat and studied the picture.

There's something familiar about this, he thought, like I've seen this face somewhere before. The thought nagged at him, and it bothered him that something should seem so familiar and at the same time be so elusive. The longer he stared at it, the more he realized this was something he should recall.

"Andrew, have you seen this guy before?" Corky held up the drawing for Andrew to see.

Andrew shook his head, "Nope, don't look familiar to me. Let's get it to the printer so we can get back to work."

Corcoran clapped his hat on his head and put on his coat. "Right you are," he said, and they headed to out to find a printer.


	11. No Plan is better

Fiona lay in bed, the breakfast on the tray on her lap untouched.

She rang Penelope to come and take it, as she had the previous two days. Her once healthy appetite had disappeared with the death of her little Ramona.

As she waited for Penelope to come and get the tray, her father came into the room and shook his head at what he saw.

"Fiona, you've never stayed in your room in your life. Good lord, girl, you're pale as a ghost and you're getting married in a few days. What will Corky think when he sees you like this?"

Fiona turned her head away, "I'm wearing pink, I won't look so pale in that. I'm just not hungry, I don't have any energy. I keep thinking maybe I could have done something to prevent Ramona's death."

"Fiona, ye have the heart of a saint, but the lass wasn't deserving of it. If she needed help she should have asked ye, but did she say anything? No. She chose what she thought was the easy way out."

He sat on the side of her bed. "Now, I want you to get up and get dressed. Black Jack hasn't been exercised properly by the grooms at the stable. What he needs and what you need is a nice day out and a good long gallop. You're the only one besides me who can handle that horse, and you've not been riding in a long time. Get outside and get some fresh air. And Fiona, that's an order."

She threw her arms around her father and started crying. He stroked her hair saying, "There, there. You get out of that bed and go outside, I guarantee you'll feel better." He kissed the top of her head and left her room.

She lay back on her pillow and stared at the ceiling. Suddenly her spacious room seemed like a prison cell. She jumped up and dug through her wardrobe for her trousers and a shirt. Suddenly the spring sunshine was a siren call and she could stay inside no longer.

She kept her head down as she walked to the livery stables. She ordered her horse and her western style saddle and supervised the saddling and bridling. She inspected the cinch and the throat latch of the bridle, then swung up into the saddle, anticipating the joy she felt every time she rode.

She kept Black Jack at a walk as they made their way out of the city. He was fresh, impatient at being kept being made to walk. She kept him reined in, not giving him his head. When they reached the fields outside the city he exploded and she went along for the ride, enjoying it as much as he.

They had the meadows to themselves and he galloped until he tired, changing to a jog, and then to a walk. She took him along slowly to cool him, then dismounted and led him until the sweat on his shoulders started to dry. She took out the hobbles and put them on his front legs, then looped the reins over the pommel of the saddle and let him graze.

She rested her back against a giant boulder, and sighed. "I haven't been riding enough. I'm going to keep a horse, even if Kevin objects. I'll get one for him, too. He's Irish, horses are part of his legacy, too. Maybe I'll cut off my hair and disguise myself as a boy and go work for a stable. August Belmont is talking about building a race track with Leonard Jerome. I'll put on my best brogue and show them how much I know. Maybe I can get a job exercising horses—as long as I can pass for a boy.

A woman came trudging by, shotgun in hand, her game bag bulging with birds. "Good morning to you," Fiona called out in her best working class accent, "Good hunting?"

"Aye," she said and sat down next to Fiona, "I had to go a ways to find some birds, but they're nice ones, and should fetch a good price in town." She took the cigarette Fiona offered her, and they sat for a while, smoking and saying nothing."

"That's a nice stallion there, he must have cost a pretty penny. You must live in town, then. The city's not for me, I prefer it out here."

"I don't blame you," said Fiona, "There's a lot of ugliness, but it's all I know. I was born and raised in Five Points. There's good people there, more than I can say for where I live now. Thank heaven the man I'm marrying isn't from uptown. It may be a harder life, but I don't mind, I feel like I'm coming home."

"Well, that's strange," the woman replied, "But I think I understand. And congratulations on your marrying, it was never for me. I prefer to live my life on my own terms, without a man to complicate things."

"Oh, I plan on complicating things for him," Fiona grinned, "But he knows that. He knows who he's getting so he can't have no complaints. Lord knows he's a thick skulled Irishman, but a good man for all that."

The woman stood up and shouldered her game bag. "Well, thanks for the cheroot. If you find yourself wanting some game, ask those around here for Mary Swanson, I'll give you a nice deal on a haunch of venison." She raised her gun in salute and wandered off.

Fiona finished her cigarette as she watched the horse graze. Right now this was perfect, she saw no need in going back. She would get on Black Jack's back and start riding, and ride forever. No more uptown, no more Five Points, no wedding…

"Shit," she jumped up. A dinner tonight, hosted by her stepmother. The Captain, the Morehouse's, representatives from Tammany, including that damn Wild Bill Eustace. Who, she was sure, had never forgiven her for rejecting his suit. She wondered who would have a harder time being gracious, her or Corky.

One last stop then. She unwound the reins from the pommel and undid the hobbles. She mounted Black Jack and headed into town, wondering if she could find Corky. Thank God being Donovan's daughter elevated her to near royalty in the Sixth Precinct. Since Corky had promised to keep abreast of new developments on the case of the murdered girls, she was going to show him she intended to hold him to that promise. He had been strangely silent since their last meeting, and that made her suspicious. He'd be capable of holding back if he thought it in his or her best interest. Time to let her fiancé know that would not do, not with her.

It was a nice canter through the countryside, then slowing down as she reached the city. People made way for the big stallion as he walked slowly through the city. Fiona smiled and nodded at people—it was nice to be recognized as an ordinary person, and not the ward boss' daughter. Soon she would be hearing, "Good morning Mrs. Corcoran", "Good day to you Mrs. Corcoran", and she wasn't sure she was ready to hear it. From a daughter to a wife, no in between. If it wasn't for the man she was marrying, she wasn't sure it would be worth it.

She found a stable not far from the precinct house, instructing one of the stable hands to walk Black Jack until he was cool. She promised a fair price if it was done correctly, putting the fear of God into the grooms if it wasn't. She gave the horse a cube of sugar she had in her pocket, patting him on the neck and promising him she'd be back soon.

She strolled into the precinct house and went back to where Kevin sat at his desk. She saw him slide something into the desk drawer, then closing it, trying to keep her from seeing. She undid three of her shirt buttons then came to the side of Kevin's desk, enjoying the look of embarrassment on his face.

"So I was right," she thought, "You are hiding something from me." She leaned over the desk so that he had to look at the open neck of her shirt. "I've had a long ride, Kevin, can you get me a whisky before I go home?"

"Button up your damn shirt, girl," he whispered, trying to keep anyone from hearing, "You don't know who can see you. And why aren't you getting ready for dinner tonight?"

She smiled at his discomfort. "Plenty of time for that, my love. And, get me a whisky and I'll do up my shirt. Go ask Sully and tell him it's for me. He's coming tonight, you know. Now be sweet and get my drink."

He glared at her, but reluctantly did as he was told. She looked around, then slowly opened the desk drawer and drew a drawing from it. It lay on top so it must have been what he was trying to conceal. She carefully folded it and put it in her jacket, then sat down in his chair and slowly did up her buttons.

He returned with a glass that held a generous portion of whisky. "Good old Sully," she thought, she hoped he wouldn't become too obsequious once she and Kevin were married. Kevin wouldn't like anyone playing up to him and she didn't want it to happen. If Kevin had a little more leeway to solve cases as he pleased, that would be fine. No more though, for him or her.

He handed the glass to her, saying, "Get out of my chair." She smiled and got up, opening her jacket so that he could see she'd buttoned her shirt. She knew her smile infuriated him, so for good measure she started laughing.

"One of these days, Fiona," he growled, but he was defeated and he knew it.

She drained her glass and set it on his desk. "Don't be late, tonight, Mama will have vapors. I don't know why we have to do this, but everyone else seems to think it necessary. I thought we were having a simple, small wedding, but it's turning into an event. I'm even going to have to be nice to Wild Bill Eustace, and I cannot abide that man. If I have to deal with this, it's only fair that you do too."

He surprised her by giving her a quick kiss on the lips, then waved her off. She left the squad room feeling pleased with herself. She even gave the groom at the stable a more generous tip than she'd intended to.

When he was sure she was gone, Corcoran opened up the drawer he had stashed a piece of paper with a drawing on it. To his dismay, he found it missing. "Damn you, Fiona," he thought, she'd played him for a fool. "Please girl, for once in your life don't go off on your own with this." He feared for her and her overconfidence and belief in her luck. He'd have to corner her tonight and beg her to be sensible. Maybe this time she'd listen to reason.

Things were in an uproar when she got home. As organized as Mrs. Donovan could be in ordinary life, she thought it appropriate to feel hysterical and on the edge of panic when it came to entertaining. Her minx of a step daughter, the subject for this occasion had not yet showed, and she needed to bathe and get dressed. She looked up again at the clock, afraid Fiona would behave as she usually did—show up just in time to get ready and not lend her any help. If she wasn't such a sweet girl, she'd like to shake her silly.

"Hey, Ma," Fiona called out as she came in the door. "Never fear, I'm here and I'm going upstairs to get ready. Do they have hot water for me?"

"It would serve you right if they didn't," Mrs. Donovan answered, "And you smell most dreadfully of horse and there's no time to wash your hair." The closest Mrs. Donovan cared to get to a horse was in a carriage.

"Ah, Ma," Fiona patted her affectionately on the cheek, "Soon you'll be getting rid of me and you won't have to deal with that dreadful horse smell anymore." She started going up the stairs two at a time in a most unladylike fashion. Fiona knew her stepmother was fond of her, and would gladly have her stay, but as her husband favored this marriage, so did she.

Rose was waiting in her room, pointed pouring in more hot water in the tub. Fiona removed her clothes and sank down in the hot water. Rose handed her the jasmine soap she ordered all the way from Paris and supervised her bathing, anointing her hair with cologne and running the brush through it.

When she was clean enough to pass Rose's inspection, she got out of the tub and dried off. Next was the ordeal of the corset, hoops, and all the garments that were deemed necessary to go under a lady's dress. Next came the turquoise taffeta gown trimmed with black lace that almost matched the color of her eyes.

"Fiona, let me do something different with your hair," Rose begged, but Fiona shook her head. Together she and Rose managed to twist her heavy mane into something resembling a chignon pushed up towards the top of her head. The final touch added was turquoise and silver earrings that dangled low and gave her a gypsy look.

"Well, Corky should be pleased," Rose said with some satisfaction, "I'm sure he prefers to see you looking like a lady…"

"As opposed to a hoyden?" Fiona raised her brows. "He ought to know I'm a bit of both. If he has any complaint he should try wearing a corset and a crinoline, which I swear were invented as instruments of torture—or to curtail a woman's activities. I'm who I am, Rosie, and I don't want to be anyone different."

"Well, you certainly are that," laughed Rose, "Now yourself downstairs and face the music. This will be easy compared to the wedding, wait and see."

Fiona kissed her and headed down the stairs. The only guest who had arrived was Kevin, and he gave her an appreciative look as she came slowly down the stairs. It was nice being desired by your fiancé, she decided, she knew how hungry she was for him and hoped they could steal away for a little while after the party was over. Their rehearsals for the marriage bed were proving more than successful. Kevin was a passionate, yet considerate lover. There would be no trouble with that part of their marriage."

"I think you have something that belongs to me," he whispered, "When were you planning on giving it back? Or were you?"

"When I'm done, you can have it back. If I recall, there was an identical drawing done in ink. Flynn's handiwork, was it? I've seen his stuff, he's really quite good."

Their conversation was cut off when they entered the living room. The first to arrive was Captain Sullivan, a sweet man but tiresome in Fiona's opinion. "Wild" Bill Eustace came next, alone, still unable to find someone who could tolerate him, she thought. The Morehouses came and Robert bent over her hand, telling her how lovely she looked, the loveliest woman in the room. Elizabeth did not look pleased.

Both Kevin and Fiona were pleased when the Freemans, Maguire, and Andrew and Sybil showed. If they had to endure this, it would be with friends. Sybil was overwhelmed at the grandeur she saw, Fiona offered to take her on a tour. As they made their way through the rooms, Sybil asked if it wasn't going to be hard to leave such luxury behind. Fiona surprised her by saying yes, but reminded her that this was not the way her life had started. She and Kevin were doing little things to make his house their home, leaving behind the memory of his marriage to Ellen. Perhaps not a fresh start, but something they could work at to make it theirs.

The evening was long, people seemed to linger when Fiona would rather that they'd leave. When at last they were alone, Fiona and Kevin drew Robert, Andrew, and Francis into Donovan's study, and Fiona pulled out the drawing.

"It took me a while, but I remembered where I saw this face. I was in the Bowery, trying to see if anyone had seen the two girls that you found after the first three floaters turned up, the ones who hadn't been in the water that long. And I thought, this looks a lot like a man who tried to force me to go with him. Then Flynn saw the same man, I'm sure of it, who was looking for something in the alley the day after Ramona was killed."

"So now we have a face, and a location. I'm sure he's gentry, when I saw him he was dressed very expensively. The cape is top quality silk, and I think Flynn would describe him as well dressed."

"So, someone most likely upper class, or at least wealthy," added Robert. "The Bowery Theatre is a popular place to go for entertainment, and since the whores frequent there, hoping to pick up johns, he has a convenient hunting ground."

"And who cares what happens to whores? No coppers around to protect them. If they have a pimp, the pimps are pretty much useless. And late at night no one will see him dispose of a body if he wants to." Andrew was pleased to have something to add to the conversation.

"I could identify this person if I saw him again, I think, but I don't want to frequent the Bowery every night trying to find him. It's going to take a decoy to flush him out since we really don't know who he is." Fiona looked at Kevin defiantly, daring him to disagree with her.

"But you're not going to be the one to do it, darlin'." He put his arm around her shoulders to make his point. "And we're getting married on Saturday, so put any thoughts of playing detective out of your head."

"Bastard," she murmured under her breath and he squeezed her leg to let her know he heard.

"Well, nothing's going to get solved tonight," Robert, ever diplomatic stood up, "Corky, can you get me some copies of that drawing? I have friends I want to show it to—we may be able to find out who he is. There's nothing much will be solved between now and the wedding, we can only hope our killer will stay quiet for a while."

They made their goodbyes, for it was late. Kevin and Fiona sat on the sofa, smoking and having a last whisky for the night. Kevin pushed her back on the sofa, pulling at her undergarments as he told her, "Stay out of this now, I mean it. I don't want to lose you. Stay away from the Bowery." His hands were finding her and she cursed him and those hands she could never resist. Her one consolation was that he could no more resist her than she could him.

And as far as she was concerned, the subject was not settled. 


End file.
